


Today Is A Gift

by Merrinpippy



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Flashbacks, Gen, M/M, Torture, but there's also nice things too so, you get the gist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-15
Updated: 2014-06-15
Packaged: 2018-02-04 20:00:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 29,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1791391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merrinpippy/pseuds/Merrinpippy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve's determined to help Bucky recover, but it seems that other forces are just as determined to bring Steve down.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Today Is A Gift

**Author's Note:**

> Instead of continuing with unfinished Hobbit fanfiction, Captain America: The Winter Soldier and the new OTP it brought with it coerced me to do this. Hope you enjoy.

Those who've seen the Winter Soldier personally know well enough that, on the outside, it’s definitely Bucky.

Of course, there’s no denying that the Winter Soldier’s body used to belong to Steve’s best friend. But Steve knows his comrades’ views on him. Dangerous. Unpredictable. Steve also knows there’s something more to the Winter Soldier than meets the eye- their eyes, anyway.

He knows his old best friend’s in there somewhere, he’d seen evidence of it on the carrier when it was going down, and _especially_ after it did. All Steve needs to do is track him down, and help him regain his memories, right?

His victory’s long due, anyway.

* * *

 

With the recent completion of this particular version of Stark Tower, Tony should be able to celebrate. But Pepper’s been called away on an important business meeting which Tony both doesn't care for and doesn't have to, and Captain Rogers…

Tony clenches his hands, then pours himself another drink; Scotch.

This is his day off, and he’s not supposed to be worrying, but celebrating. If he’d had more notice, he’d have thrown a massive house party- now he’s almost glad that he didn't.

Tony sits down on his favorite chair and takes a large sip. He puts the drink down, then his head in his hands.

He knows what being alone feels like, so he understands, he really does. And it’s not as if he wishes (much) harm on Cap, but he’s deluding himself. It’s clear. Because Tony knows what it’s like to really want to believe someone’s the same as they were. Tony found out the hard way that the world doesn't work in our favor.

Of course, that didn’t deter Rogers. He acted like it did, but there was something behind the old soldier’s eyes that gave him away. A certain longing.

Another sip from his glass.

They hadn’t seen each other since the incident with Thor’s brother, Loki. Steve had specifically sought him out, as Tony suspected he’d done with the other Avengers, too. It was kind of a request for permission, kind of a here’s-what’s-gonna-happen, kind of a…well, Tony didn’t really know. It was odd, and not the Cap he was used to.

Then again, the Cap he was used to is the Cap that’s catching grenades and deflecting electricity off of his indestructible vibranium shield.

With that in mind, Tony tells himself to stop thinking, worrying about Steve, and since when is he a damned mother hen? But, he feels in his gut that there’s something wrong here, that something bad is going to happen.

He downs the scotch.

* * *

 

Steve would describe himself as a mess, even if no-one else has the guts to.

He is definitely missing those SHIELD missions, even though he’s happy with the knowledge that he’s not working under the secret hand of HYDRA. His own shield is lying in his room, unused and unneeded for the moment, its last action having been offense against Bucky. With that thought, he shudders.

 _It’s too early in the morning to be thinking things like this_ , he tells himself. It’s a phrase he’s learned from the 21st century- in the time he’s from, World War II, there was never a ‘too early for’ anything, considering any moment could have been their last.

He pulls a shirt on which fits him snugly, and buttons up his pants. He still has half an hour left until his daily run, but lately he’s finding it harder and harder to sleep, nightmares of the Winter Soldier and Bucky’s death plaguing him in his unconscious moments.

It’s not like he can’t continue his everyday duties, whatever they are now. He’s supposed to be finding the Winter Soldier now, of course, and Sam’s supposed to be helping him. However, like Nat informed him, he’s like a ghost. They haven’t found any leads yet, but Steve’s still hopeful. They’ve only been looking for a month or two, so sooner or later they’re bound to come across something useful.

_I hope._

He had been doing okay with the pain of loss up until this point. It was like a cruel joke; give him what he wants, however corrupted but still redeemable, and then snatch it away. Through this, there’s one thing that Steve holds on to. _He saved my life._

 _He’s still there, inside, I know it!_ Steve remembers the look in the Winter Soldier’s eyes. Just a glimpse, but there nonetheless. Bucky.

Steve sighs, and looks at the clock. His eyebrows raise, and he heads towards the door. It seems his inner monologue has taken more time than he anticipated, but not too much, at least. Stark must be rubbing off on him. _On second thoughts, I’m never using that sentence again. Ever._

Steve locks the door to his apartment, not needing to turn off the lights since it’s so bright outside already that none were turned on in the first place. He walks past the usual streets, usual trees. Even after all this time, everything’s just so…different. _That reminds me, I have to go to a music store to buy a…Nirvana CD? Yes, it’s Nirvana for today._

Sam is, of course, already at their usual meeting place. He’s looking the wrong way, to Steve’s delight, and a grin spreads across his face.

“On your left!” Steve exclaims, running past him, and he hears Sam curse a greeting. Steve increases in speed, laughing for the first time that morning. He loves the adrenaline of running like this. It’s not the same as taking out all of his stress on a good few punching bags, but neither is better or worse. At least here, he has company. Sort of.

“On your left!”

* * *

 

When Sam is out of breath and Steve is sweating, they both head to a park nearby, taking seats underneath a large tree.

“I’m starting to wonder why I even _try_ to keep up with you, man,” Sam jokes, leaning back.

“Maybe it’s because you think you’ll succeed one day.”

“Maybe I will!”

“Good luck with that,” Steve chuckles. Sam laughs right along with him.

“You found anything? On B- on the Winter Soldier?”

Steve shakes his head, brow creasing. “No, I haven’t. What about you?”

“Sorry, man. I got nothing.”

Seeing Steve’s grimace, Sam adds, “We’ll get him! We’ll find him. We can’t expect to find him if he doesn’t want to be found easily, at least this early in the game. We just need to keep looking.”

“Yeah.” More confidently, “Yeah we will.”

Sam smiles. “How’s Operation: Modern Day coming along?”

“You tell me. I could be doing this _entirely_ wrong, and end up with Wizard of Oz on repeat.”

“That wouldn’t be too bad, actually! Classic movie. Anything on your agenda for today?”

“Mm, I do need to buy a CD from a store somewhere.”

“Shouldn’t be too hard. Stay away from the metal, though.”

Steve shoots him a confused look, and opens his mouth to reply.

“No, no, don’t ask. Just, while you’re still getting into the 21st century, stay away from that area. It’s maybe a little too alien for you.”

“You want alien? Try Norse Gods.” Sam laughs, and Steve continues. “Rift in the sky, space army flying out of it. Can you get more alien than that?”

“You could try my ex-girlfriend for alien, but I really don’t think that’s a good call.”

Steve shakes his head with another grimace.

They talk for a while, until Sam has somewhere to be, so Steve is left alone with his thoughts. He watches the day pass by, smiling at children playing and shouting a warning or two to a bully he sees picking on some of them. Needless to say, the bully’s eyes widen, and he leaves immediately. Steve receives warm smiles and thanks, and he feels as if he’s accomplished something great. Which, to be fair, he has.

He’s never had any time for bullies, no matter where they came from. The thought hurts his head and brings back memories he wishes he could drown in alcohol like anyone else could.

He watches the birds fly by. The freedom they have is what Steve wishes the world has, but he’s not so naïve to think that it’ll happen anytime soon. In regards to this topic, the world hasn’t changed.

* * *

 

By the time he wills himself to leave to go to the store, the sun’s on its way down. This isn’t the first lazy day he’s had, and it certainly won’t be the last, but there isn’t much he can do about it. He’ll wait for another newspaper, looking for any suspicious headlines or nameless crimes, maybe look through the file Natasha got him on Bucky for the umpteenth time. Maybe it’ll reveal something. Maybe it won’t.

_Focus on the now._

He walks through town, and eventually does find a small music store. A bell on the door sounds his entrance into the almost empty shop.

It’s brightly colored inside, with musical memoirs hung up on the wall. Racks of CDs line the shop, with little plaque cards identifying the genre of music in each section. He smiles at the brown-haired woman manning the counter, and she responds with a small wave. Her name tag identifies her as Laura.

He declines help before he realizes that he doesn’t actually know what kind of music Nirvana plays, and sheepishly returns to the counter.

“Excuse me, ma’am, you wouldn’t happen to know where I could find, uh, Nirvana?”

Her eyes brighten, and she grins. “Sure!”

She walks around the counter, and he sees the entirety of her outfit: pink dress shirt, black tube skirt and black tights, with high indigo boots to top it off.

“Mmm, it should be…here.” She lifts three CDs seemingly out of nowhere.

“Is that it?” Steve asks. He’s noticed that most artist have many more CDs to their name.

“Yes, they only made three CDs. You don’t know what happened, do you?” Laura comments, making her way back to the counter with the CDs.

“I’m not an expert, no.”

“It’s a shame, really. The lead singer, Kurt, committed suicide. So much wasted potential…” She snaps out of her reverie and scans the CDs into the computer on the counter. “That’ll be $16 exactly, please!”

Steve hands her the cash with a respectful nod, and she bags them. “Here you go. Have a nice evening!”

“You too, ma’am,” he responds as he leaves the store. The bell tinkles softly behind him.

The sun is definitely setting at this point, and the town is draped in its orange glow. He makes his way home to his apartment with a spring in his step for having done something at least a little productive today.

Steve doesn’t pinpoint exactly when he starts being followed, but he notices it soon enough. He continues on as normal, making sure it looks like he’s still blissfully ignorant.

The steps behind him are almost silent, and they aren’t continuous, so Steve assumes that if he turns around, no-one will be there to greet him. His insides knot together for a small moment where he loses control enough to let the thought into his head, _what if it’s him? What if it’s Bucky?_ He nearly trips at the thought, but his rational mind clears those hopes away quickly.

Besides, if it was Bucky or the Winter Soldier, he’d recognize the sound of the footsteps. This person’s footsteps are foreign to him, so it’s not someone he knows immediately. He doesn’t know whether that’s comforting or disturbing.

The person following him disguises their footsteps well, but not the sound of a camera taking a picture. There’s no-one around, so it’s unmistakable. Steve whips around, and sees a man clad in black uniform almost out of sight.

“Hey!” He breaks into a run.

His stalker doesn’t turn around, like Steve had intended, but speeds up, and heads down an alley.

_Score. A dead end._

Except it’s clearly not, as his stalker is nowhere to be seen.

He looks around. Checks the nooks and crannies. He finds nothing. His disappointment is kept to himself.

He turns around, heading out of the alley. He trips over something- or rather, he is tripped up. He rolls and comes to a stand, his heart beating faster. Three men, looking like his stalker, stand in front of him. His stance turns offensive, and they mirror it.

He begins to run at them, but is stabbed in the back. The air rushes out of his body. The men don’t move. He tries to turn around, but a needle pierces his skin and he winces. However, he knows that no normal drug can affect him.

And yet, this one does. He falls to his knees as they give out.

His eyes widen in shock as he actually feels some substance enter him and stay there. He knows his body should be burning it off, but it just keeps coming and he finds himself going numb and unable to move. Any light surrounding him seems to fade.

He tries to get up, and succeeds in falling forward. He grunts as his head hits the sidewalk and comes face-first to grey stone. His mind frantically tries to comprehend what’s going on, chanting a mantra over and over.

_This shouldn’t be happening._

He’s rolled over so he’s facing upwards, and he sees the one who incapacitated him. He looks just like the others. It burns him to not know the man’s face.

He’s hit on his own face. It stings through the numbness that has taken hold of his body. He thinks he feels blood dampening his skin. The backlash turns his head to the side, but it’s pulled to face back up again. He forces himself to detach from this pain, to try to ignore it, but it throbs in a way he remembers from his childhood.

The other men step towards him, and he tries to move, do anything, but his body doesn’t respond. A fist from one of the others drives the air out of his lungs again. A sharp pain resonates from his abdomen, and a choked sound is forced from Steve.  

His chest bears the brunt of the next attack, this time with something harder. Vaguely he notes that it’s because this particular attacker is wearing a gauntlet. He notes that this will probably bruise very prettily- at least, for a few hours.

It’s so reminiscent (to a certain degree, anyway) of his time before he became Captain America that he almost expects the old Bucky to walk down the alley, say some cunning one-liner and send the men running.

But Bucky doesn’t show.

Blow after blow he receives, one at a time, never in the same place twice in a row. Steve feels fear- not the “the world’s going to end” fear (he takes a jab in the neck and he tastes blood in the back of his throat) or the “I might not save these hostages” fear (a kick to the collarbone sends a sick vibration through him), despite being prominent fears in Steve’s life. This fear is different- it’s one he hasn’t felt in a long, long time. (Punches on his left cheek leave it swollen and Steve’s careful to keep his face completely still)

It’s the fear that he might not make it out alive. (There’s a stamp on his lower leg, and it doesn’t do much until it’s become a repeated action and the pain gradually increases.) He knows that it’s a stupid notion. (A knee to the pelvis has him gasping and accidentally irritating his cheek, which sends a whole new bout of sharp pain through him.) But for the forever he is unresponsive, his mind reverts to the kid from Brooklyn who wanted in to a war he was physically unable to fight in. (They strike his right cheek now, and it wouldn’t drag these pathetic whimpering sounds from him if his face wasn’t in immense pain already.) Now he knows he can definitely feel blood on him.

It hurts. And then, it doesn’t.

Sure, it aches, so badly. But the attackers stop, and Steve is ashamed of his inability to fight them. One with a camera, who Steve assumes is his stalker, takes another picture, and then they leave him. They pack up, and disappear. He wonders if those pictures will find themselves on the internet.

He sighs inwardly, for his body doesn’t let him move. He’s supposed to be stronger than this; that’s the whole point of the serum, to make him a super-soldier. He’s not supposed to be brought down by a simple injection.

What seems like hours pass. The sun disappears too. His conscious mind is blank, but he feels the pain that comes with his unconscious brain working overtime. 

Slowly, feeling returns to Steve’s body, and with it comes the pain. No doubt, it’s already started to heal, but he’s not used to being in this much pain.

_Guess SHIELD’s departure has left me out of shape._

He moves his arm, and though he can barely see in the darkness, he manages to grab onto something hard and sturdy. Wincing in pain, he drags himself upwards, until he is able to put both hands onto the object. _A trashcan, possibly?_

He pulls himself up and over the object, suspected trashcan, and he tests his legs to see if they can carry them.

He waits for about a minute, so he can get used to being upright, and he walks.

It’s not without pain, but he does walk forward. Thankfully, they’ve left his newly bought CDs alone, so he picks up the bag and tries to act like nothing’s happened. There are people around, but not many. He’s not really on a used street, so it’s not that surprising.

Somehow he makes it back to his apartment with everything intact. He ducks his head, self-conscious for once, when the few neighbours that are out at this time of night shoot him confused, alarmed or concerned looks. He fumbles with his keys at first, but it goes in and he turns it and then he’s inside, and he feels safe.

When he reaches his sofa, his knees collapse from beneath him once again, landing him on the sofa. He’s asleep before he knows what’s happening.

* * *

 

“Steve? Steve!”

Steve shakes his head against the headache he seems to have developed overnight. _Except it’s not the morning, clearly- the sun’s in the wrong place._ Sam’s standing above him, eyes wide, taking in Steve’s appearance.

Sam sighs with relief, and Steve notices that he’s still slightly sweaty. He groans.

With prompting and still half asleep, Steve recalls the night before to Sam, and his friend excuses himself for a moment to make a phone call.

“Stark said he can travel faster than we can, so he’s coming to us.”

That wakes him up. “Wait, what?!”

Sam rolls his eyes. “Not many drugs are strong enough to do what that clearly did. Stark’s tech is superior to most, so naturally, he’s the first place to go for analysing it.”

Steve sways. “Where did you get his number?”

“Stole it from your phone.” Sam shrugs, and kicks back on another sofa.

Steve lifts himself up and blames his instability on having woken up only a little while ago. The time on the clock is 2:37. _No wonder Sam came over._

He goes to his bathroom, just a corridor away, and looks at his reflection in the mirror. He takes his shirt off, and is surprised by how little damage is actually visible. Consciously he notices that the pain isn’t really there like it was before, except maybe a little sensitivity where he was hit worst, and a light headache.

“Hey Sam! It’s healed up a bit! I’ll be better in no time!” Steve calls into the other room, hoping to shine a little light on the situation.

He washes his face, but it doesn’t really _do it_ for him, and there’s still blood on him, so he takes a quick shower.

Steve turns the water on hot and lets it run for a while, losing himself in the feeling of the water hitting his skin, before slowly letting up the temperature and continuing the ritual in a cold shower.

He doesn’t take too long, he thinks. He dries himself off and dresses in clean clothes, and goes back to the living room to find Sam with two plates of eggs and bacon.

Steve nods to him and accepts his plate from Sam, and they eat in companionable silence, with the occasional, “Whoa, this is good.” Despite his discretion, Steve does in fact notice Sam sending him worried looks when he thinks Steve can’t see.  

About an hour of leisurely relaxing and light conversation later, Tony arrives with a metal case which Steve assumes is some technology unique to Stark Industries.

“Hey, Tony,” he greets.

Tony smirks. “What’s up, Stars and Stripes?”

Steve rolls his eyes but smiles nonetheless, while Sam sniggers.

“You’ve had a very…eventful night. Not as pleasant as my usual, but you’re getting somewhere.” Tony opens the case, revealing a modern-looking but still identifiable syringe. “We’ll get this done and over with, and then I’ll be gone, and I’ll tell you when I can about yet another of your weaknesses, Cap.”

Sam reaches over to help Tony, and Steve pretends to look away. Immediately in sync, as if on cue, Tony’s and Sam’s expressions shift and they share matching pitying and worried faces. It takes all of Steve’s energy not to grit his teeth or clench his hands. He’s not a baby. He got through it. _I’m fine._

Tony resumes his normal façade and Sam follows suit. “Hey Spangles, I’m ready for that arm.”

Steve bites his lip for a reason worlds away from what his friends interpret it as. He barely feels the needle when it does pierce his skin, and it’s over in a few seconds.

“Really wish I could stay, but I’ve got rare fossil blood I need to analyse.” Steve doesn’t bother to point out that fossils don’t bleed. Tony packs up his equipment, and just as soon as he came, he’s gone. Steve’s kind of grateful.

After a moment of silence, Sam claps his hands together, and drawls, “So…do you want to catch up on that run?”

“Yeah, sure.”

* * *

 

“Oh, damn! I almost forgot to tell you in all the hubbub.”

They’ve finished their daily jogging routine, and are on the way back to their parting ways home. The sun’s setting once again. Steve snaps back from a daze brought on by the heat.

“Tell me what?”

Sam hesitates. “I’ve got a lead.”

“On…You mean on Bucky?”

“Yeah, dude. On the Winter Soldier.”

“Well, what is it?” All aches and pains immediately leave Steve’s body as he’s filled with excitement and a slight impatience.

“In the newspaper, actually. Museum security footage tape’s been found showing him dressed almost like a civilian. It’s definitely him- if I didn’t recognise him by his face, then I’d be able to by his arm.”

Steve nods, then backtracks. He angles his head towards Sam. “What was he doing at the museum?”

Sam exhales deeply. “The footage’s on the internet now, on the news page. It shows him at your exhibit, the one about the Howling Commandos. Specifically yours and Bucky Barnes’ parts. You should look it up.”

“I will. It sounds…interesting.”

“Yeah, it is. Hey, y’know what this _means_?” Sam dramatically pauses. “Winter Soldier’s still in the area!”

“Or he was. I mean, we did meet him face-to-face.”

“Nah, man, trust me. This footage was taken _recently._ We can take him do- …We can get him, we can make him remember.”

Steve barely stops himself from stiffening at the words his friends almost said. He makes himself relax, though. Sam means well.

They reach the point in their way back where they need to split, and Steve smiles and waves, and Sam does the same. His smile fades as he turns, and he walks the remainder of his journey home with fantasies and dark thoughts fighting in his head.

The sky has darkened considerably by the time he reaches his apartment block, so much so that colors have stopped looking like themselves. Steve wonders if he’s been followed again.

The looks from his neighbors are less intense this time, and he nods to everyone he comes across, which turns out to be about four people.

Steve turns the corner outside his apartment and drops his keys on the floor.

Slouched on the floor against his door is the Winter Soldier himself. Bucky.

Hand shaking slightly he crouches to pick his keys up, eyes never leaving the figure leaning on his apartment door. “Bucky?”

The Winter Soldier raises his gaze, and the first thing Steve notices is how tired Bucky looks. Bucky’s lips part slightly, and his eyebrow raises the slightest fraction.

Steve looks around, and no-one else is there. He leans over Bucky and fits the key in the lock, turns. “Do you want to…come in?”

A small nod.

Steve helps him to his feet, then hovers, unsure. Bucky sways as he walks, and when he stumbles Steve is there, holding onto him to support him. Bucky nods his thanks, but still doesn’t say a word.

Steve helps him to the couch, before quickly closing the door and coming back. He stares at Bucky for a long time, and Bucky seems to be on the verge of saying something, but not at the saying part yet.

“I remember you.” Bucky looks Steve in the eyes. “I knew you.” His voice sounds gravelly, like he hasn’t used it in a long time, but controlled.

At first Steve can’t speak, but then he doesn’t have to. “I want to remember who I was.”

Steve nods slowly. “Well, to start, do you want a fresh set of clothes?”

Bucky blinks, and looks down at his clothes. He’s wearing pretty much the same thing as before, only it’s dirtier and more worn. Steve notes that Bucky will probably want a shower soon.

“…Clothes…” Bucky mumbles.

“I’ll get you some clothes,” Steve reassures, and heads into his room. He searches for a pair of clothes to give, and he calls into the other room, “What do you remember so far?”

“I remember falling,” comes the quiet, hesitant reply after a pause, and Steve freezes. Bucky, however, continues. “I remember you there, and we’re both screaming, and I remember you trying to get to me even though we both know you can’t.”  

Steve doesn’t notice the tear threatening to fall at hearing Bucky’s death from his own perspective. He unclenches his hand from around a drawer handle. “Anything else?” Steve continues picking out a pair of pants for him and admonishes himself for being an emotional wreck.

“I remember…he has your face but not your body. I remember being dressed in uniform and saving…is it you?-...from a fight, I think.” Steve finds himself slightly surprised by how civil Bucky seems.

Steve grabs the clothes and returns to the living room, laughing. “Yeah, that was me. I wasn’t always like I am now,” he gestures to himself. “I had to be injected with a serum to turn into this.”

Bucky’s eyebrows crease, and he looks up at Steve in astonishment. “You were experimented on, too?”

Steve nods thoughtfully. “You could put it that way.” _He really doesn’t remember…but he will soon. I’ll make sure of it, he’ll remember everything he wants to._

“I have this…feeling. Like I need to protect you. I don’t know why.”

Steve chuckles, feeling somewhat hysterical. “I’m not the one that needs protection at the moment.” He plants the clothes on Bucky’s lap, then turns to the most comfortable couch he owns, incidentally the one he fell asleep on the night before. He cocks his head and searches around for some pillows, deliberately not looking at Bucky. He can hear the materials rubbing against each other, and is reminded of something he thought of earlier.

“Hey, Bucky, I just thought, do you want a shower?” Steve throws over his shoulder.

There’s a silence that makes Steve slightly uncomfortable before a muffled reply comes. “Yes.”

Steve turns towards the corridor to the bathroom and points, saying, “It’s just through there. Call if you need anything.”

“…Were you always this squeamish? I don’t think you were always this squeamish. One would question your credibility as a straight man.”

Steve’s shoulders sag with shock and he spins on the spot to face Bucky. A slight smirk adorns his face, and he looks so much like himself that Steve can’t help but stare.

The smirk slips from Bucky’s face and Steve freezes as a result. Bucky’s expression becomes blank with a hint of confusion, and Steve looks away again, slightly red in the face. He hears rather than sees Bucky follow the corridor to the bathroom.

Steve walks in a daze to his own room, where he grabs two pillows out of the closet and digs for a spare blanket. All he finds is a sheet, so he replaces that with his own blanket and drags his blanket into the living room.

He can hear the water running and almost smiles at the domesticity of it all. It’s funny, because he can remember a time where Bucky was almost begging Steve to move in with him, but Steve declined. He couldn’t take Bucky’s home, even part of it, from him because his friend pitied him. He didn’t need pity.

Steve shakes himself out of his reverie and props the pillows up neatly on the sofa, draping his blanket over the top. He takes out his phone and dials Sam’s number.

“Hey Sam, it’s me, Steve.” Steve thinks he achieves a nonchalant tone.

“Steve? What’s up?”

Steve trips over his words when Bucky enters the room in Steve’s clothes. _He looks much healthier now,_ Steve thinks. When Bucky sees Steve on the phone, he freezes and his eyes widen in…fear?

“Nothing big, I just thought I’d let you know that I’m taking it easy tomorrow. Just in case.”

“Really? Well, do you want me to come over or anything to help-?”

“No!” Steve blanches at his own tone. “Uh, no thanks, but I’m really fine. I just want to make sure everything’s okay, so I’ll just stay at home. Maybe I’ll listen to the Nirvana CDs or something.” Steve knows he’s babbling, but he can’t have Sam over tomorrow. It’d be too stressful.

“…If you’re sure.”

“Yeah, it’s fine. See you.”

“See you.”

Steve sighs with relief as the call ends. The tension in Bucky’s shoulders has disappeared, and the fear has all but left his face. Guilt nudges at him but Steve ignores it, reassuring himself he’s doing the right thing.

“You look great- Not that you didn’t look great before, but now you just look…I’m gonna shut up now.” Steve sits on the normal couch and gestures for Bucky to take to the other one. Bucky complies wordlessly.

“You didn’t think I’d sell you out, did you?” Steve asks after a moment of silence.

Bucky says nothing, but the ways he looks down says it all.

“Bucky, I need you to look at me.” Slightly surprised, Bucky meets his gaze. “I swear to you. I _swear_ to you, that I will do my very best to keep you safe.”

After about a minute of a slightly awkward silence, at least for Steve, Bucky nods. _I should have let him take the bed. Hmm._

“Is there…is there anything you want to tell me? Anything else you remember?”

Bucky raises his head back, then after a moment of deliberation, he nods again. “I killed Howard Stark and his wife.”

Steve feels a wave of nausea pass through him as he cocks his head and asks, “What?”

Bucky looks down, then meets Steve’s gaze. “It’s not a memory of Bucky Barnes’, but I killed them. I staged their car accident. You and Bucky once knew Stark, so I thought you should know.” Bucky breaks eye contact, eyes looks lower but still at Steve.

“At least-” Steve’s voice breaks, and he tries again. “At least you knowing that we once knew Stark is a memory.”

“…We?”

“Yeah, you and me. No matter what’s happened, or will happen, you’re my best friend…Do you remember that?”

A pause.

“I remember.”

Steve smiles, and checks the time. “We should probably get some sleep. Do whatever you need to make yourself comfortable. If you need me, I’m just in there.” Steve jerks his thumb in the general direction of his room.

Bucky nods, laying down and pulling the covers over him. Steve quietly stands up and treads lightly to his room.

“Steve?”

Steve half-turns. “Yeah?”

“Goodnight.”

He smiles. “Goodnight, Bucky.” Steve salutes him, before turning back around and entering his room. He is as quiet as he can be while changing into his pyjamas, listening for a noise from Bucky, but there isn’t anything.

Steve slips into bed and decides that though the sheet isn’t that bad, he’s glad he gave his own blanket to Bucky. He lays awake for a while, listening out for Bucky, but apart from a few shifts, there’s nothing. After an indeterminable amount of time, the shifting dies down and stops.

Steve drifts off to sleep. Tonight, he has no nightmares.

* * *

 

When Steve wakes up, it feels a bit like Christmas when he was young enough to get presents from his parents before they both died. Quietly tiptoeing into the living room, Steve reminds himself of when he was much younger, being so excited but still a little worried that the presents may not even be there.

Bucky’s still sleeping when Steve enters the room. Steve feels giddy, like a child left alone with their Christmas presents and endless time to play with them all. Except there’s only one for Steve and it’s more than enough.

He tiptoes to the kitchen, where there isn’t really a door but an attempted arch bordering hole in the wall. He still doesn’t completely understand modern architecture. He leans on the counter, watching Bucky sleep. It’s the first time Steve’s seen Bucky peaceful since the 40s.

Now that he’s paying attention to it, Bucky’s longer hair seems quite attractive, and suits Bucky surprisingly well. _He looks so much like…Bucky. It’s almost like the good old days._

Steve checks the contents of his fridge and freezer, and takes out a bag of hash browns. There’s enough in the fridge to last them a day or so, but he’ll need to get more groceries soon. He turns the oven on, wincing at the noise it makes and spinning around to face Bucky. He doesn’t stir.

As silently as he can, Steve takes a baking tray and slowly rips tin foil so as to make as little noise as possible. Eventually Steve puts the tin foil pack away and spreads what he’s ripped onto the tray, emptying the remainder of the hash brown bag onto it.

He makes note of the time for cooking purposes and puts the hash browns in the oven. If Steve remembers correctly, there’s a pancake mix in the cabinet, so he takes out a pan and places it on the stove-top.

As he prepares the pancakes, Steve wonders what he’s going to do. He can’t hide forever, and he definitely can’t hide Bucky forever. He knows he’ll stay with Bucky for as long as Bucky wants him there. He’ll try his damnedest to recover all of Bucky’s memories with him. But sooner or later, Bucky’s going to get tired of him, and Steve won’t know what to do. There are also still those with intentions of detaining Bucky, of hurting him, because they think- well, know- he’s dangerous.

 _I’ll protect him with everything I have and more, if I have to. I won’t abandon him again._ This, Steve knows.

It’s good enough for now. He’ll decide upon action for the others when he comes to it.

He needs the bathroom at the worst possible time, so he dashes as fast as he can. He notices his reflection in the mirror while washing his hands, and sees that most of the injuries have all but faded, and all that’s left are some cuts and a few bruises. He dries his hands.

He treads back into the kitchen to see a yawning Bucky sloppily flipping the pancakes. _What a change from yesterday. Must not have been sleeping well._

“Morning, sunshine,” Steve calls, making his way over to him. Bucky manages a tired nod, a smile playing at his lips. His eyes are barely open.

“Let’s see…they should be done now, so let’s turn the stove off,” Steve comments as he moves to the other side of his friend, switching the dial to turn the burner off. “The hash browns should also be done in,” Steve checks the time, “minus one minute. Oops.” He also reaches down to turn the oven off, and then grabs an oven glove, very aware of Bucky’s eyes on him. Bucky steps back, allowing Steve room to open the over door. He reaches into the oven and takes out the hash browns, which are thankfully not too overcooked. He plops the tray next to the pancakes and removes the oven glove.

“Good night’s sleep?” Steve asks, turning to Bucky.

Bucky yawns again, drooping eyelids blinking slowly as he sleepily nods. Steve smiles.

He uses a spatula to separate the pancakes and hash browns onto two separate plates. He grabs a knife and fork each, and passes them to Bucky, who takes the plates and their contents over to the table. Bucky sloppily sits down at the table, waiting for Steve. Steve takes the half-empty bottle of maple syrup out of the cabinet and brings it over to the table, pouring it on both of their pancakes.  

“Dig in, buddy.” Bucky seems to wake up a little more at that, and eagerly takes his knife and fork to his breakfast, making Steve smile.

Steve eats his own breakfast quite a lot slower, deciding to savor the taste. He’s pleasantly surprised by how well it’s turned out.

Although they eat in relative silence, Steve observes Bucky closely. Thankfully, he’s enjoying the meal just as much as Steve is and Steve feels oddly proud. Bucky looks like a little ray of sunshine and Steve has to admit that he does look a little cute.      

Bucky finishes when Steve has one pancake left, and Steve, looking down, can see Bucky watching him out of the corner of his eye.

He finishes, thankfully not having gotten any syrup on himself. He discreetly checks if Bucky had (he hadn’t) while picking up their plates to put in the sink. He’d deal with that later.

He sits down across from Bucky, and it is then that he notices his expression. Steve frowns in concern. “What’s wrong?”

Bucky’s looking at his face, but not looking him in the eyes. He doesn’t say anything, but continues to study him. “Not as handsome as I used to be?” He jokes.

“What happened to your face?” comes the reply, and Steve realizes that he still isn’t fully healed.

“Oh, it’s nothing. Just a few scratches.”

“No, it’s not. You heal faster than the normal human being and nothing happened to you last night, which means the initial injuries were much worse.”

Steve gives a small smile at Bucky’s observational skills. “So, I got a bit beat up. It’s fine now.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow, reaches over and yanks Steve’s shirt up. “Bucky, what’re you-?!” 

Bucky nods with a pointed look at his chest. “When and what?” Steve pulls his shirt back down.

He sighs and mutters, “You’re starting to act like Sam.” Bucky doesn’t let up, so he leans back in his chair. “I was walking home late, and I got into a fight.”

“Which they somehow won against a genetically engineered super-soldier.” _The sarcasm is strong in this one._ (Steve's caught up enough to make that reference.)

“They _may_ have injected me with a drug that stopped me from moving. But I’m _fine now._ ”

Bucky looks like he has more to say on the matter, but he lets it go at the last minute. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize to me, Bucky, you never need to.” Steve holds Bucky’s gaze long enough for Bucky to eventually nod.

“So what’s on the agenda for today? What do you want to do?” Steve leaves it up to Bucky, though he assumes it’s going to be memory-related. _It’s better to give him control of what he does, anyway._

Bucky cocks his head to the side, thinking for a moment, then looks back to Steve. “Could you tell me more about you?”

Steve blinks.

“I just thought, maybe if I remembered more about you, it might help, because back on the bridge, I…” Bucky trails off, but Steve understands now.

“Of course I will. Just what do you want to know? Maybe we should start with what you already remember.”

Bucky takes a deep breath. “I know you were his- _my_ best friend. I remember that you…yeah, you were always getting into fights before you got jacked up.”

Steve laughs. “I could never back down from a fight. Actually, the only time I remember refusing to back down from a fight is…well, it’s when we were on that carrier.” Bucky’s eyes widen, and before any depressing thoughts sink in, Steve changes the subject. “You were my best friend too. I was quite stubborn back then-”

“-Still are,” Bucky points out, which makes Steve chuckle.

“Yeah, I guess I am. You were always there to save me from a fight. You were pretty much my only friend, to be fair, but when there were more, it was still you who I liked the most.” Steve coughs and looks away. “My mother was called Sara and my father was Joseph. They both died before I became an adult.”

Bucky’s eyebrows knit together. “So he was really all you had?”

“ _You_ were pretty much all I had back then, yes. And I let you down.” The words leave a bitter taste in Steve’s mouth.

Bucky shudders, but shakes his head. “I’m here now, aren’t I? I’m safe with you now.”

“And what have you gone through because of me?! If I’d have just gotten to you faster-”

“-then I wouldn’t be here, I’d have died many years ago. Were you really that beat up about it?”

“I got you killed! You died because of me. Of course I was _beat up_ about it! You were my best friend and you died in front of me when I had it in my power to save you.”

“That, I remember. I remember knowing that there was _nothing you could_ do because you physically could not get closer to me. How do you still blame my ‘death’ on yourself?!”

“…How do you not?” Steve clenches his fist under the table, a movement that does not go unnoticed by Bucky.

“Steve. I am, I’m _glad._ I didn’t die. If it weren’t for you, I’d have been stuck in that HYDRA base being experimented on. You saved _hundreds_ of people, including me, and now that I ‘died’, I’m not actually dead.”

Bucky breathes heavily, and Steve almost smiles. “Looks like you remember more than you give yourself credit for.”

Bucky lifts his head and looks Steve dead in the eyes. “I remember how Bucky Barnes felt, how I felt about you. I know that if you’d asked, he’d prefer what happened to me rather than being left behind when you went into deep freeze.”

“If places were switched, I’d be the same.” Steve puts his hand midway across the table, an invitation. Bucky grasps his hand with his own metal one, and they sit there for a while, lost in their respective thoughts, hands joined.

Bucky’s other hand reaches over to his metal shoulder, and Bucky doesn’t seem to notice as he fiddles with it. Steve’s gaze switches between Bucky’s face and his shoulder, but he actually seems oblivious to what he’s doing, which appears to be… _he’s scratching off the star._

Steve decides not to mention it.

Bucky snaps back into attention a while later, and smiles sheepishly at Steve. Steve finds himself surprised that it’s this easy for Bucky to be…Bucky. “Game of chess?” Steve suggests.

Bucky shrugs, but says, “I’ve forgotten how to play.”

Steve smiles gently. “Well, I’ve got a chess set and forever to teach you.” Bucky smiles back.

* * *

 

When Tony calls Steve’s cell phone, there’s no answer. It seems Cap still hasn’t gotten how it works, yet; _calling people goes both ways, moron._

He got Wilson’s number, after his brief visit, so Tony calls him instead.

“Hello?”

“It’s Tony. I have results.”

“Hey man, that’s great! Have you told Steve yet?”

“Cap hasn’t answered his phone, so I figured I’d go to you.”

“Damn. Steve took a day off today, I think he’s just stayin’ at home.”

“Well, better that than out and about being vulnerable.”

“What?”

Tony grimaces, despite knowing that Wilson can’t see him. “It’s kinda bad. Like, really bad. It’s not really something that I want to explain over the phone.”

He hears Wilson sigh in frustration on the other end. “Well then, get your ass over here.”

“Honestly I’d prefer it if you came here, considering this is my lab with my stuff in it.” Tony can almost feel the eye roll on the other side, and finds himself liking Sam Wilson more.  

“Dude, whatever. We’ll leave tomorrow.”  

“This is urgent. I need you as soon as you can be here.”

“Fine! I’ll go get Steve and we’ll drive over.”

“On second thoughts, maybe getting Cap is a bad idea.”

“…You’re kidding me.”

“Just get over here. I’ll explain everything there.”

“Six hours.” Wilson hangs up.

Tony breathes out a sigh of relief. He takes another look at the cells he’s isolated, which are multiplying so fast he’s had to continuously put an acid on them to keep them from getting to be too many. Thankfully, the acid isn’t nearly as effective as the serum that’s a part of Cap now, so there’s that.

“JARVIS, Captain America’s body should be able to kill off the virus, correct?” Tony crosses his arms.

“It depends in what amount of time is available. The virus is built so that when a signal is released by the creator, the worst condition experienced in the time that the virus has been in the body will be recreated by the virus. Steven Rogers’ body has the capability to kill off the virus in one month, but given the intent of the virus itself, it’s unlikely that he will be given that month to kill them off before he is attacked again.”

 _Thought so._ Tony frowns, peering at the virus on his lab screen. “Damn it.”

* * *

 

“It’s your turn, bud.”

Bucky nods absentmindedly, looking at the chess board, and uses his normal arm to move the most far left pawn forward two spaces. Steve mirrors him, smiling. He’s been mirroring him since the beginning of the game, and they both have collected three pawns because of it. Bucky’s about to make another move when Steve’s call phone rings _again_ , and Steve sends him an apologetic look before his face contorts in annoyance and he leaves the room to answer the call.

Bucky watches him go. It feels strange for him to feel so comfortable around this man, who he’s only known for a few days. He attempts to hide his sorrow, guilt, anger from Steve, but slight changes in expression tell Bucky that Steve can see when he tries. In turn, Bucky can sense that Steve is sadder than he outwardly appears; maybe he doesn’t even know it himself, but somehow, Bucky does.

The old Bucky Barnes of the past is beneath the surface, he can feel it, but memories are the only result of this. He feels the three sides of him clash often, but so far Bucky- the new and improved Bucky- is getting better at staying himself against the old Bucky, who doesn’t really attempt to come out but pours memories on him, changing him constantly, and the mindless assassin he was programmed to be.

This confuses even him.

Technically, he’s known Steve for many years- most of his life, in fact. But he doesn’t remember. If he’s being honest, Bucky’s afraid for the old Bucky to resurface, because if he does, Bucky will most definitely lose who he is now, even though he’s not quite sure who that is.

He still wants to remember, though. It will make him whole again, he’s sure of it. He already knows that by this point he couldn’t purposely hurt Steve even if he wanted to- the thought of Steve damaged in any way makes Bucky’s stomach twist and his heart clench. He tells himself it’s because Steve’s been so good to him since he showed up, but Bucky remembers.

He remembers a feeling. Something that the old Bucky felt. He’d cleaned himself up after what he did to Steve. Tested himself. Tried to make sure he wasn’t as unstable as before, because yes, Bucky was well aware that he was. All of his thoughts kept returning to Steve. At first he didn’t know what it was, but over time slowly returning memories told him what it was: love.

He remembers Bucky being scared to even hint it to Steve in case he was received the wrong way, but he also remembers that despite the pain that he sometimes received because of his feelings, the friendship between Steve and Bucky was so strong that it often didn’t even matter that Steve could never love him back in that way. It was the type of friendship that Bucky hopes he can revive with Steve, only with the new him.

He’s not sure whether he could grow to feel love for Steve of his own doing, not the old Bucky Barnes’, but there are more important things to focus on. Like the way Steve is grinning in delight as he bounces back into the room, somehow the most beautiful thing Bucky’s ever seen.

_Well, damn._

“Sam’s taking off to New York for a few days! Don’t get me wrong, Sam’s a really good friend, but this means I don’t have to lie or make up excuses.”

Bucky’s confusion (and is that hurt?) must show on his face, because Steve sobers up as he sits across from Bucky and says, “Because I would continue to lie and make up excuses to him and any others left right and centre if it meant keeping you safe.”

_God, no wonder. Steve could have made Red Skull fall in love with him if he’d wanted._

“It’s your move, Buck.” Steve smiles gently at him.

Bucky moves the pawn on the most far right two spaces forward. Steve imitates him again. “This is way too much copying for an ex-painter.” The words come out of his mouth unannounced. Like light being shed on a book in the dark, making it readable, the memories comes to him, and one in particular, in the space of a second.

_Steve, pre-serum, is painting a drawing he’d done earlier of two doves flying over an army recruitment center. Bucky thinks it’s ironic that he could paint such a picture and yet continue to risk arrest for the sake of possibly getting into the army._

_“Thought you wanted to beat up Nazis, Rogers, not kiss and make up with them.”_

_Steve raises an eyebrow, and where he would usually make a snarky comment back, he simply says, “I don’t wait to beat up Nazis, nor is there any German I want to kiss. I just want the war to end, and I want to do my part in ending it.”_

_Bucky doesn’t respond to this, noting that he’s breached a touchy topic. So he watches Steve, his gracefulness in the strokes of paint and how Steve himself makes a handsome picture, regardless of the spatters of paint he’s somehow managed to get onto his clothes and even a little on his face._

_It’s a sight he doesn’t need a picture of, for it is painted onto his memories from that point on, or so he thinks._

Bucky sways in confusion, and Steve’s grasping his shoulders before he knows it to keep him steady. As Bucky comes back to himself, he waves Steve off. “It’s nothing, just a memory.”

Steve’s expression changes from concern to pride. “Nothing? That’s great! Was it a specific memory, or..?”

“Knowledge, about you. And a specific memory too, although I’m sure that it’s connected to others that I’d know if they were mentioned.”

“Oh really? Which memory? I assume the knowledge is of the painting, going by your remark.”

Bucky smiles at Steve’s accurate observation. “Yeah, it is. Do you remember the time you were painting that drawing of two doves?”

Steve’s brows knit together for a moment, and Bucky starts to get worried that he’s remembered something Steve’s forgotten, but then Steve’s eyes light up in recognition. “When you made fun of me for wanting to kiss Nazis or something?”

Bucky’s stuttered denial/confirmation makes Steve laugh, and gives Bucky butterflies. He can almost hear the old Bucky laughing at him and calling him a fool. He suddenly wishes he were as confident and cocky as he clearly once was.

They continue to play chess, Steve continuously reminding Bucky of each piece’s rules (yet never showing a speck of impatience), until deep into the evening. Steve puts on a ready meal for the both of them, and while they eat, Bucky tries to concentrate on uncovering more memories of Steve, but just achieves a headache.

Steve must notice what he’s trying to do, because he says, “Relax, bud. You’ll get your memories back- you’ve been consistently getting them back so far.” Steve gives an honest smile. “You always were more put-together in the head than most people.”

 _It’s not me that’s unlocking my memories,_ he thinks, but he just smiles softly back at Steve, and continues to eat. The food is ten times better than anything he remembers, and the company’s all he’s ever wanted.

When they’re done, Steve washes the dishes in the sink. Bucky’s not asked to do anything, but he joins him anyway, grabbing a towel to dry and put away what Steve washes. It’s pleasant, Bucky notes, working together with Steve to achieve something. Strangely, it’s probably as close as Bucky will get to knowing what the war missions were like for the two together without actually remembering. _Though I expect my missions would be somewhat similar, also, except then I was alone, and with Steve, I’m the opposite of alone._

They get ready to go to bed after that, brushing their teeth and using the bathroom. Bucky’s attention is caught by Steve’s bed as he walks past his bedroom, and he sees a small blanket on his bed. Bucky shakes his head, instinct telling him that were he to try to persuade Steve to take his own back, he would fail, and possibly end up with more of Steve’s stuff accidentally. _What a punk._

“Goodnight, Steve.”

“Goodnight, Buck.”

* * *

 

The bad news Sam was expecting was, “Steve’s gonna have a headache for a few more days because the drug’s stronger than advised.” He was _not_ expecting his friend’s life to be in danger, but in danger Steve appeared to be. Currently, he’s telling himself that ‘ _how the hell is a virus like that even possible?’_ is not a very useful question.

_Boy, it must be really fun being a genetically engineered super-soldier._

“Cap’s made a lot of enemies, I’d assume. It would be hard to pick out one or even just a few suspects.”

“So we just need him to stay at home, away from anyone else who might want to harm him, until his body kills off the virus? That’s harder said than done.”

“If I thought it was going to be a simple, solvable problem, you wouldn’t be here.”

“And we’re not telling Steve why, exactly?”

Tony shakes his head. “Telling Steve would put him in more danger, not less. You just _know_ he’d go off in secret to try to find these guys, and he’d probably get himself captured or worse because of it.”

Sam sighs. He does have a point, so he changes the subject. “It could be the Winter Soldier, or what’s left of HYDRA.”

“I’ve been thinking about that. It’s less likely to be the Winter Soldier, since he seems to be more of a battle-happy assassin, rather than someone who resorts to this.” Tony gestures to the virus. “HYDRA, though, I wouldn’t put it past.”

“It would make sense. I mean, Steve’s kinda just destroyed most of HYDRA by destroying SHIELD.”

“If it’s true, that could mean that one of Steve’s attackers from that night was the Winter Soldier. Also, you played quite a big part in that, too.”

“I’m not really sure how this is a threat we can fight, Stark.”

“Info. Information is key. The more we know, the better we can help Cap. I do have some good news, though.” Tony pauses to eat a few blueberries that seemingly just appeared out of nowhere.

“Before we grow old, if that’s possible.” Tony just waves him off with an amused glare.

“Mm, the good news is that it takes a certain amount of time for the virus to stabilize enough to be affected by the signal. That would be about…mm, three days.” Tony returns to his berries.

 “Good news? Two days have already gone by!” Sam groans, shaking his head. “What do we even do about this?”

“Last known homes of HYDRA agents. Break in, attempt to find evidence.”

“You say that like you expect them to just have it scattered around the place! We’ll never get anywhere if we do that.”

“Well, soldier, do you have another idea?”

* * *

 

The next day, Steve also wakes up before Bucky. When he reaches he kitchen this time, there isn’t much to eat, and he knows he has to go to the store to get some food. _Better wait until Bucky wakes up and tell him, so he knows what’s going on._

He drapes himself across the sofa opposite his sleeping friend. Bucky’s on his side, face buried in the back of the sofa. Steve looks over him, and notices that the star on his arm is practically gone, except for a few small slivers of red paint.

Unlike the day before, Bucky is jerking in his sleep, probably dreaming. Steve thinks it’s fine, at first, until Bucky turns over in his sleep, now facing him. His expression sets ice in Steve’s stomach- his face is scrunched up in pain and anger, and as Steve watches, Bucky whimpers in his sleep.

 _Time for an intervention._ Steve lunges over to the other sofa, and as gently as he can, places a hand on Bucky’s right shoulder.

Bucky’s awake immediately, according to the metal hand closed around his neck. Bucky stands up, and Steve can guess exactly what type of dream he’d been having. Bucky’s eyes hold no recognition in them, no emotion, as he slowly lifts Steve with that arm so that his feet leave the floor.

“Bu- Buck! Bucky, stop, please!” Steve wheezes. He starts to see black webbing around the edges of his vision, but makes no move to attack Bucky. He can’t take in any more breath, so with what he’s got, he manages to get out, “Bucky-” before he has no more air to force out.

Bucky’s grip tightens, and Steve’s vision has been reduced to a spot in the middle, just large enough to see Bucky’s face and arms. Where he’d been tense before, Steve loosens up and purposely goes limp. He feels his consciousness slowly leaving him, but he forces himself to stay calm and continue to look Bucky in the eye.

Suddenly, like a switch being flipped, something changes behind Bucky’s eyes, and they widen in shock. Steve’s dropped, but he doesn’t catch himself with as little brain power as he finds himself with. Vaguely, in the back of his mind he hears a horrified, “Oh my God, Steve,” before he blacks out.

He has a headache when he wakes again, and that’s the only thing convincing him that being choked wasn’t just a dream- the familiar feel of his own bed almost persuades him otherwise. He shifts and opens his eyes, and the first thing he sees is Bucky pacing impatiently next to the bed. The movement alerts him, and the next thing Steve knows, Bucky’s sitting on the bed in front of him.

“Steve, I- I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to, I just- Are you okay?” Bucky’s words come out in a rush, worried and desperate, and Steve instinctively pulls him into a hug. Bucky freezes for a second, and Steve almost retracts, but Bucky wraps his arms around Steve and hugs him back hard.

“I’m fine, Bucky, you don’t need to apologize.” Steve marvels at how good it feels to hug his best friend.

“But I-”

“No.” Steve leans back out of the hug, and Bucky seems reluctant to let go. Steve puts his hands on Bucky’s shoulders and says, “It wasn’t your fault, bud. I understand. Lord knows I had terrible dreams when they woke me up.”

Bucky’s breathing heavily, still. “You shouldn’t be around me.”

“Bucky.” But Bucky’s wildly looking around, growing frantic, and rambling.

“I could hurt you real bad, I could kill you…”

“ _Bucky._ ” This time, his friend meets his gaze.

“I don’t want to hurt you, Steve.” Bucky’s voice cracks, and Steve finds himself unable to resist holding Bucky again. There is no hesitation, only trust, and Steve thinks, _trusting me got you killed the first time. I wouldn’t recommend it._

“I’m more worried about hurting you, honestly.”

“You shouldn’t be.”

“Likewise.”

They remain in each other’s embrace for a long time, and by this point Steve isn’t even _trying_ to deny that he feels more than friendship towards Bucky- at least, to himself. He feels, smells, hears and sees Bucky, but he knows that Bucky won’t want to stay with him forever.

Once Bucky gets his memories back, Steve’s sure that Bucky will leave him, and Steve won’t blame him. The thought is upsetting, but he clings to thoughts like this to kill the hope of Bucky ever loving Steve the way Steve loves Bucky, because however short their time would turn out to be, it would surely be shorter were Bucky to find out.

Steve sighs. “I need to go to the shop, Bucky. We’ve run out of food.”

Bucky groans, head resting on Steve’s shoulder.

“I mean, I could live on your company alone, but you need something to eat.” Steve almost convinces himself that he’s joking.

“Don’t be long?” Bucky mumbles into his shoulder.

“I’ll be as quick as I can.” Slowly they let go of each other, and Steve sorely misses the contact. Nonetheless, he grabs the jacket he stores change in, grabs his keys and walks towards the front door. He pauses, turning to lean back against it with his arms crossed, facing Bucky, who’s followed him into the living room and is now looking a little lost. “So, rules while I’m gone: Don’t answer the door. Don’t answer the phone. Don’t stand around looking like an idiot- well, that’s not exactly a rule, but there must be something you want to do that can be done when I’m gone.”

Bucky looks at him helplessly, so Steve says, “In my bedroom, there’s a set of drawers. The top one contains your file. You don’t have to look through it, but it’s there. Y’know, Buck, honestly, you can do whatever you want. Go through any of my stuff if it’ll keep you busy, or happy- preferably happy…I just want you to feel at home.”

Bucky looks a little more upbeat at that, although Steve’s not sure which part he’s happy about. “Is there anything you want from the shop?”

“Can you get paint?” It would confuse Steve had he not seen Bucky’s scratched off star. Seems like Bucky wasn’t as oblivious to it as he’d thought.

“Sure, whatever you want. Any particular colors?”

“I think blue, white and red.”

Steve smiles, and salutes his friend. “See you in a little while. Don’t do anything stupid until I get back.” It’s a shot in the dark, but maybe…

“How can I? You’re taking all the stupid with you.”…maybe they’re actually getting somewhere.

Steve’s grinning as he locks the door and leaves the block, and makes a mental note to find paint specifically made for painting metal.

* * *

 

The file turns out to be a compilation of places that the Winter Soldier has been seen in, and deaths that trace back to him. There is actually very little about who Bucky used to be before he fell off of the train.

One thing that does give him strength is that the friendship between he and Steve was mentioned in an overview of who he was (most of the other things were either things he already knew or just irrelevant). At least, it gives him strength until the part where it implies that it’s possible that Steve Rogers ‘dying’ only a short while after Bucky might not have been a coincidence.

That’s the point where Bucky figures he’s gotten as much from this file as it can give him, and he puts it back.   

He keeps thinking about what he said to Steve before he’d left- he felt it was the right thing to say, and judging from his reaction, he was correct. But Bucky couldn’t, can’t place why he’d known it.

He sits down on his makeshift bed, and sighs, with his head in his hands. He wishes he could just…remember.

It’s not just that he doesn’t remember, exactly, though- it’s that he can _feel_ the memories there, just out of reach, like a dream that you can vaguely remember having but can’t quite place.

 _Calm. I need to be calm._ So Bucky calms himself, trying to think of all the happy memories he can muster. Steve’s painting pops up in his head. But so does another memory, one of a fight, and though he tries to block that one out, he can’t. However;

_After Steve gets cleaned up, they go on a double-date. Bucky acts his usual, cocky self, and if he layers it on more with the girls so he can keep his reputation as a ladies’ man, then no-one’s the wiser.  Stark makes cars fly, if only for a few seconds, but it brings Bucky hope of a better world. But then Steve’s gone, and Bucky knows exactly where._

_When Bucky does catch up with Steve, they argue, of course. They’ve had this argument before. Bucky feels rotten when the words, “You’ve got_ nothing _to prove,” come out, but it’s true. The war isn’t for his friend- he’d sooner get shot in the head than shoot someone else. Bucky is, however, somewhat confident of his own ability to fight. He’s been doing it for years to protect Steve, why should it be any different?_

_Bucky gives up, and turns to leave. This is the last time they’ll see each other before Bucky goes to war, but they won’t get emotional, not now._

_“Don’t do anything stupid until I get back.”_

“ _How can I? You’re taking all the stupid with you.”_

_As Bucky walks away, Steve calls after him, “Don’t win the war until I get there.” Bucky doubts that both winning the war anytime soon and Steve getting there before it eventually happens have a high chance of occurring, but then, miracles have happened…and tragedies. Bucky turns around and salutes his best friend. He turns back round to greet the ladies, and honestly believes the next time he sees little Steve Rogers will be when the war is over, and with that thought he gains an extra bit of motivation to win the damn thing._

_Oh, how wrong he turns out to be._

Bucky startles back to the present, and grins. _So that’s where that’s from._

With renewed joy, Bucky looks around for something else to do. Steve’s sketchbook is on his bedside table, and since Steve said he was allowed, he reaches for it, and looks inside.

* * *

 

Steve’s pretty much done, and on his way home. He’s gotten paints, the specific colors that Bucky wants and the specific type that’d stay on the arm. He’s gotten enough food to last for at least two weeks, possibly more. He’s also gotten a cheap silver mobile phone, which he’s going to give to Bucky as a temporary means of communication. _It kind of matches his arm,_ Steve smiles to himself. 

It still feels strange to be doing these things, like shopping freely without rations and such, but if feels more normal this time- most likely because he’s shopping partly for Bucky. Honestly, just the knowledge that Bucky’s alive makes Steve feel, well, alive again.

Of course, being head-over-heels in love with Bucky isn’t exactly a foreign feeling to him, either. It’s just lucky that Steve’s had so much practice hiding this part of him from his best friend. Suddenly, Steve feels giddy. His excitement overcomes him for a second, and he stops in his tracks to cover his mouth while he attempts to stop laughing hysterically. _I’m really buying something for Bucky. Bucky’s really waiting for me at my apartment. Bucky’s alive!_

Steve makes it to the apartment block with a spring in his step, but purposefully sobers up before he reaches his own apartment.

“I think you’ve left your stereo on again, mate,” a neighbor tells him with a raised eyebrow. “Don’t worry, though, it’s not too noticeable unless you’re up close to the door.” He nods at Steve, then continues along with his business.

 Steve can see- or rather, hear- what the man’s talking about. He pulls his keys out to open the door as the song playing ends, and another one begins.

“Honey, I’m home,” Steve jokes as he shuts the door behind him. Bucky looks up with a content smile, widening at the sight of Steve, and raises a large notebook in greeting.

“Your drawing book,” Bucky informs him, and gestures to Steve’s stereo. “Nirvana. S’quite good, actually. Hope you don’t mind.”

“’Course not,” Steve replies, dropping himself on the couch next to Bucky. “I said do whatever. You enjoying my scribbles?”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “Scribbles my ass, these are amazing. One of them was like looking in a mirror, seriously Steve.”

Steve blushes as he remembers exactly what drawing Bucky’s referring to. Thankfully, there’s nothing incriminating in that book, or anywhere else in his apartment, now that Steve thinks about it.

“You know I’m right,” Bucky adds as he flips the page. “Holy crap.”

Steve cranes his neck to see what page his friend is on, and resists the urge to slap himself in the face. It’s another one of Bucky, this time in the sniper’s position. It’s one of Steve’s personal favorites, but he’s not entirely sure about what Bucky would think about it (and all the other drawings of his).

“This…this is fantastic. Quite possibly the best so far. My God, Steve, how are you not a famous artist by now?”

“Because I’m a famous soldier by now, currently out of action because of the lack of threats to humanity. What a shame.” Steve says it with a slight smile and an eyebrow raised, and Bucky grins right back.

“Guess you can’t have everything, huh?”

“No…no, you can’t.” Steve’s thoughts turn melancholy for a moment, so he distracts himself by grabbing the paints and the phone out of the bag. “Got you a cell phone, Buck, so if I’m out I can call you or vise versa. Also, these paints you wanted..?”

Bucky makes to take the phone, but Steve holds it just out of reach. “Not yet, I’m gonna put something on it before you take it. I promise you’ll like it…or at least appreciate it. Hopefully.”

Steve does, however, toss him the paints. Bucky inspects them, and notices that these paints specifically work on metal. He throws Steve a small smile. “You’re not an idiot, you know what I’m gonna ask you to do.”

Steve dashes into his bedroom to grab a suitable brush and returns, sitting next to Bucky on the side of his metal arm. “Is there any particular size you want the baby unicorn, or…?”

Bucky shakes with laughter, and replies, “I’ll leave that to your good judgement.”

Steve smiles, then falters, brush in hands. “What do you actually want?”

“Your shield, obviously!”

“Alright, sit still.” Bucky complies immediately.

Steve strokes with the brush over where the red star used to be with white, creating a white star instead. “I think that, I don’t want you to feel like I…own you, or anything, so…”

Steve becomes silent as he paints a blue circle around the white star, and switches the paint again, to red. “…I’m not going to make an exact copy, because you’re your own person…”

Steve finishes the red circle and leans back to look at his work. _Needs a second coat, then needs to dry._

“…and I want to give you all the freedom you want.”

Bucky is silent while Steve re-does the star, but speaks while he switches the color of paint to blue. “I didn’t think of that. At this point I’m not sure if it matters much; I’d be honored to have your emblem on my shoulder, but I didn’t consider that. Thank you, it actually means a lot to me.”

“Getting your own shield?” Steve jokes, half-heartedly.

“You,” is the only explanation Bucky gives, but Steve thinks he understands.

Bucky’s version of the shield turns out surprisingly well, at least in Steve’s opinion. Steve smiles at his work and puts the brush down. “Done. We should probably leave it to dry, though.”    

 “Thanks, Steve.”

“You’re completely welcome. And, you’re wrong, by the way.”

Bucky raises his eyebrow at him, and Steve continues. “ _You_ matter, _so_ much.”

Though he probably doesn’t need to, Steve leads Bucky towards a mirror and lets him look at the shield. Through the mirror, Steve almost can’t look at Bucky’s face for all the emotion laid bare there. His expression is awestruck, his eyes are watery. Steve doesn’t let himself move, in case he does something wrong. Nirvana is still playing in the background.

“Steve,” Bucky starts, but he evidently can’t continue, and Steve’s growing a little worried. However, Bucky’s face breaks out in a blinding grin, and to Steve it’s so cute and hot and beautiful and _Bucky,_ that Steve can’t help but grin back. _It’s just that he’s happy,_ he tells himself.

They move back to the sofas, and when Steve confirms that the paint is dry, Bucky pulls him in for a tight hug, which Steve is only too happy to return. They lay on the sofas opposite each other, listening to the rest of the Nirvana CD. When exactly it happens, Steve doesn’t know, but they find themselves holding each other’s hands. Neither seems to care.

After doing certain toiletry things, including showers and the brushing of teeth, they decide to crash on the sofas together. Bucky tries, but is unable to see what Steve’s doing to his new phone as he very deliberately angles it away from him. Steve’s smile at Bucky’s attempts is evil, but he can’t help it. “You’ll see tomorrow!” Steve tells him.

They both fall asleep at ungodly hours after a long time of comforting touches between the sofas. Steve can’t say he minds the late night.

* * *

 

Steve wakes up in the middle of the night to a metal arm pushing down on his chest and a knife up against his throat.

Gasping, he automatically struggles and attempts to move himself away; a bad idea. The knife presses harder, the metal hand thrusts a thumb into Steve’s stomach and threatens to inflict visible damage.

“Bucky-”

“Shut up.” Bucky’s voice is flat, emotionless. It hurts Steve to hear it.

“Bucky please-”

“I said _shut up.”_ Bucky reaches over and grabs another knife with his metal hand, and Steve’s stomach relaxes in relief, but it is short-lived. Bucky’s leg reaches up and pins Steve’s arm to the couch ( _like I’d resist)_ and drives the knife into it. Steve’s hand flexes and he gasps again, in pain. Bucky slowly lets up pressure with his foot, before letting it down. Steve doesn’t move, and he certainly stays quiet.

Steve slowly arches his neck up, exposing it more but also making it so Steve can’t see it. He doesn’t need any more violence with him and Bucky imprinted on his memories. Steve looks Bucky in the eye, but Bucky can’t seem to do the same. _He wants something._

While Steve tries to keep his breathing light, Bucky’s is actually audible. Finally he decides to look Steve in the eyes, and it’s chilling.

“What do you want?”

“I don’t-” the knife presses harder, a warning, before giving Steve room to breathe again. “I want to help you.”

“I don’t need help.”

“I want to help you remember what you’ve forgotten.” Steve remains calm, looking Bucky in the eyes as he talks. He must be doing something right, because the knife moves away from his neck a little more.

“Maybe I’m better off without the memories.” This time, Bucky fails to keep the emotions out of his voice. He knows that tone. Denial.

“Maybe, but we won’t know until you get all the memories back, yeah?”

“No!” The response is immediate, defensive. “No, because then I’ll never be able to go back.”

This has Steve furrowing his brows in confusing. “What? Bucky, what do you mean?”

The “Don’t call me that,” is muttered and without vigor, and Bucky seems to curl up a little. “If I go back, I’ll go back to being him, and then I’ll never be me.”

“That’s not true-”

“I’m a weapon! I am an asset and I take orders and _you_ are my mission.” Bucky’s shaking as violently as his voice is. “He’s trying to come back and take me, and _you’re_ helping him, and I’m going to d-die,” Bucky stutters, and when his voice cracks Steve can’t help but pull him into a hug.

Luckily, or perhaps unluckily, Bucky seems to be too far gone to enforce his threats, curling up more and crying into Steve’s embrace. Steve holds him through it, making sure to angle his arm to the knife handle doesn’t dig into Bucky.

Bucky falls asleep soon after, violence forgone, so Steve removes the dagger from his arm with a wince and falls asleep too.

He makes sure to wake up later again that night before Bucky so he can put Bucky into a more comfortable position back on his couch and so Steve can clean the blood off of his now-healed arm. He goes to sleep facing Bucky, silently hoping his friend will get enough sleep for the rest of the night.  

* * *

 

Because brainstorming had failed to produce a plan sane enough, Sam finds himself outside in the dark. Fresh air always helps to clear his mind, and maybe he’ll think of a plan here.

Of course, that doesn’t mean that he’s completely out of it- if Tony and Sam are right, and it _is_ a vengeful HYDRA behind Steve’s attack, then it’s quite possible Sam will be attacked too. Sam’s fingers shift around the silent alarm in his pocket- given to him by Tony earlier that day, it alerts JARVIS that he’s in trouble if he finds any.

Back to the problem at hand, Sam is having no luck coming up with a miraculous rescue plan for his friend, and the safety period’s nearly up.    

As much as he hates to even think it, Sam admits to himself that Stark’s original plan is unfortunately the best they’ve got so far, and if they don’t act soon, it’ll be too late. _But it’s a stupid idea that’s never going to work, anyway!_

Shadows move around him, and Sam is aware of more than one person tailing him. He rolls his eyes and presses the silent alarm, and continues to walk. Within minutes the shadows decide to strike, but Sam is good at running.

Compared to attempting to outrun Steve, these attackers are child’s play, and he manages to keep ahead of them by at least two meters, judging by how loud their footsteps are.

He runs half way back to Stark’s place before he’s greeted by Tony; or rather, his pursuers are greeted by a sleek high-tech gun that Sam wasn’t aware even existed. “Took it from SHIELD before you guys destroyed it,” Tony clarifies when he sees Sam looking at it. 

With a few silent pulls on the trigger the men are unconscious and bleeding. Sam grabs one by the arm, and says to Tony, “Can you track where they’re from?”

Tony contemplates it for a second, before responding, “It’s worth a shot.”

They drag the men back to Stark Tower. It takes a while; it’s night by the time they get back and they receive _many_ strange looks from passers-by. When they do get back, the men start to regain consciousness, and they are promptly put back to sleep.

Tony unceremoniously pulls off their masks, dropping each one when he does. “None of them are the Winter Soldier. Although I guess if one was, we’d have known by now.”

Sam doesn’t know whether to feel better or worse because of this, but decides not to dwell on it. He’s about to ask after the tracking question, but Tony beats him to it and gets JARVIS to see if there’s anything tying them to a place on their persons.

“Scotch?”

* * *

 

“Nothing.”

“What?”

“Nothing. I don’t want to do anything today.”

Steve shrugs with a smile. “I can do that.” He leaves the room to make them breakfast, and Bucky leans back down on his sofa. He hadn’t dreamed that night, thankfully- that would have been dangerous for Steve, who’d been sleeping pretty much within arm’s reach.

Steve had been sending him weird looks when he’d woken up, and Bucky didn’t know why, but after a few minutes of Steve assessing him he’d stopped and acted like nothing had happened. Bucky almost wants to ask him what it was, but he knows exactly how Steve’s going to react to that: Embarrassed, shy, and completely in denial. So he lets it go.

He’s enjoying himself here, a bit too much- he’s not sure when he’ll outstay his welcome. But for now, if there’s one happy moment to be had, he’ll take it. So he curls up in the blankets Steve’s given him, and sighs contently.

That is, of course, when he realizes Steve slept without one. An eye roll escapes him before he can stop it. The smell from the kitchen seeps over to him, and he’s torn between staying where he is and joining Steve.

His decision is made for him when Steve settles into the sofa he’d been sleeping on, handing Bucky a plate. He’d made a wrap for them each and warmed it. Bucky inhales deeply and smiles.

“Smells great.”

“It better,” Steve replies after swallowing a bite of his. _Cute._

It’s an incredibly relaxing and domestic sight, Bucky decides as he takes a bite of his own wrap. It doesn’t disappoint. _Bet hardly anyone else has seen Steve like this. ‘Cept maybe the Avengers or something. And the Howling Commandos._

He hopes the warm atmosphere will keep, since he’d need to say it at one point or another. “He loved you, y’know.” Steve looks up at him, in the middle of a bite, eyebrows raised. He finishes it and swallows slowly. Bucky bites his lip.

Conversationally, Steve asks, “Who?” like he doesn’t already know, the punk.

“Bucky. Back in the 40s. And 30s.” Bucky responds just as casually, if a little strained, leaning back out of his slightly hunched eating position.

Steve nods, expression unreadable. _Unreadable? I’ve always been able to ‘read’ him._ “And we’re back to ‘he’ now?” His voice is still controlled, and Bucky just wishes he could hear an emotion in it.

“I, then. _I_ loved you.” At this, Steve’s head jerks a little, almost unnoticeably. 

“You remember this, or are you assuming?”

“I remember.”

“Is it a particular memory, or…?”

“Well, it’s there. In my memories. But it’s not one memory, it’s a feeling- Love’s a feeling, right?” Bucky tries to ignore his accidental dip into the present tense, but stops himself from babbling (hopefully) just in time to still sound sane.

Steve opens his mouth, then closes it. He leans forward a little, almost hunched over. “I loved you, too.”

They meet each other’s gaze, and neither of them say anything else. They’re at a standpoint; Bucky can choose whether to continue deeper or drop the topic and never mention it again. He’s almost tempted to. Steve shifts in his seat, and _he’s more like the Steve that Bucky remembers than he would have thought possible, with his damned morning hair and his bloody honest face and his muscular body (which suits his personality surprisingly well),_ which doesn’t make sense, but Bucky rolls with it.  

Bucky wants to _say the thing,_ but he’s worried about his reaction, and since when was he worried about how people reacted to the things he said?

He sighs. “Screw this. I don’t know…how to…I’ve been out of the world for longer than I’ve been in it, so…” Bucky laughs at himself, eyes looking anywhere but at the man in front of him. “I swear I was never this bad. I’m blaming this on you.” Bucky shakes his head. “I love you. And I get it if you don’t feel the same way or anything, and nothing has to change if you don’t want it to, but it’s better to be honest than-”

Bucky’s babbling is cut short by a hand on his chest and suddenly he’s being kissed, very hard, on the mouth. He gasps and he feels Steve’s mouth curve up against him. It’s enough to make Bucky’s head spin and he closes his eyes, unable to respond in his state of shock. It’s followed by Steve seeming to catch himself and smoothing down Bucky’s shirt.

Steve clears his throat, squirming where he sits almost on Bucky’s lap. It’s not close enough.  

“‘Loved’ is so seventy years ago, right?” Steve jokes with one shoulder raised, half-hearted even to Bucky’s ears, and Bucky twists his human hand in Steve’s shirt and brings him back down. His kiss is gentle in comparison, lips pressing into Steve’s, barely moving except for a dart of the tongue to Steve’s lip, which has Steve cupping Bucky’s face and deepening the kiss. The only sound is them; their bodies gliding against each other, their breaths, slow but quickening against each other’s mouths, and it’s heavenly.

Somewhere in between that and teeth being added into the mixture, Bucky finds his metal arm curled protectively (possessively?) around Steve’s waist, and Steve’s other hand is fluttering around Bucky’s torso, seemingly unsure of where to hold.

Bucky runs his teeth along Steve’s lip and bites down, causing Steve to moan against him, and his arm decides Bucky’s hip is the right place to go. He strokes his side, and Bucky laughs breathlessly before it turns into a moan when Steve leans forward, forcing Bucky back against the sofa.

He looks up into Steve’s eyes, which are wide open like he can’t believe this is happening, and honestly, can Bucky blame him? His own heartbeat’s running a mile a minute trying to keep up with Bucky’s emotions; falling off the stupid train was worth it for _this,_ even if it never happens again.

Steve pauses, lifting his head back, and Bucky whimpers unwillingly at his loss. Steve closes his eyes at the sound. Their chests rise and fall heavily and they’re both almost panting. When Steve does open his eyes, his expression grows concerned (and is that fear?), and Bucky leans back on his elbows, eying him quizzically.

Steve throws an arm out to his side helplessly. “Please tell me this is you. God, Buck, please tell me you’re not just going to wake up tomorrow and hate me for this.”

Bucky reaches up with the back of his metal hand to caress the front of Steve’s stomach through his clothing. He doesn’t miss Steve’s small gasp, nor that he leans into the touch.

“Steve, I’ve wanted this since we were teenagers, seriously. Even then you were freaking beautiful, when you thought you were the scum of the earth. Now…” Bucky brings his other hand up to the back of Steve’s head and wills him to understand. “Now look at you. You’re amazing in every possible way; you always were, and only a fool wouldn’t see it. If I wanted you back then, before the serum, before the brainwashing, what would that say about me now?”  

He pulls his human hand down slightly, not enough to hurt but enough to send Steve the message. He still looks worried- less so now, but Bucky can practically see the ‘what-if’s bouncing out of Steve’s head. His hand moves from Steve’s head to his cheek. “Steve.” It’s a whisper, just barely audible.

He brings Steve’s face down so their noses are almost touching, and Steve’s forced to look him in the eye. “Steve.” Bucky whispers again, trying to convey what he feels through his voice.

Steve brings his arm next to Bucky to brace himself. “I just…I don’t want to lose you again. It was hard enough the first time, and then the second…I don’t think I can take it another time, Bucky,” Steve sighs, his breath tickling the hairs around Bucky’s mouth. “I’m bad at this too, y’know.”

“Honestly Stevie, right now is probably the opposite of losing me. But if you don’t want this, we don’t have to,” Bucky adds as the thought suddenly occurs to him.

The look in Steve’s eyes isn’t worthy of Bucky, he knows. God, you’d have thought he was looking at an artist’s masterpiece, not a broken man trying to convince him of the truth and to let go. Then again, Steve could have a kink for patriotism, honor and truth for all Bucky knows.

And he _will_ know.

A small smile curves the edges of his mouth as he tilts his head and closes the gap between them, eyes slipping shut. He feels Steve’s mouth turning upwards against him, lips closing around Bucky’s bottom lip.

“I trust you,” Steve mutters into Bucky’s mouth, and he begins to worry Bucky’s lip with his teeth, while one of his hands pushes up Bucky’s shirt to drag across his bare chest. Bucky’s breath quickens again and he discreetly arches into the touch. Well, almost discreetly. Steve chuckles triumphantly.     

“There was a time,” Steve begins, kissing the sides of Bucky’s mouth, “when if my breathing was anything like this,” his hand reaches underneath Bucky, clutching his back, “we’d have been scared for my life.”

Steve’s head moves down to Bucky’s neck and he nips at his skin, and oh, if it doesn’t feel _amazing._ “Funny how things change.” His voice is muffled where he’s licking and scraping at the crook of Bucky’s neck, but Bucky hears, and moans in reply.

“You’re talking too much,” Bucky complains, but it doesn’t have any real conviction in it; Steve’s voice has gradually gotten deeper, and Bucky loves it. He moves his metal hand to Steve’s hip and traces his hipbone.

Steve bites down into Bucky’s shoulder at this, Steve moaning and Bucky crying out at the sharp pleasure it brings. Bucky brushes his hand under Steve’s cheek, and Steve looks up- his ears have turned red and his eyes are still wide open.

Bucky nuzzles his head against Steve’s neck and he laughs breathlessly, lowering himself further down on top of Bucky and sliding his body seductively against his. Bucky runs his hands down Steve’s chest, eliciting a quiet moan from him. Bucky pulls back, aligning his face with Steve’s again and biting on the other man’s lip and smoothing it with a drawn out lick. He arches up slowly and he forgets to keep his eyes open, lost in the sensation.

Steve pushes Bucky back down onto the couch and Bucky’s eyes fly open when Steve’s breath tickles the hairs on his chest. Steve nips at him, a shock running down Steve’s body, a heat making itself known further down. Steve smiles a wicked smile, looking Bucky directly in the eyes, before grinding his hips downwards. Bucky shivers, and his hand jerks- _vulnerable time to strike complete mission-_ but Bucky growls and presses the hand down next to him and uses the other to coax Steve up for another kiss. Nothing indeed.

He knows as they stroke each other’s skin and smash their mouths, lips, tongues together that if they don’t stop soon they won’t be able to go back. It’s much too early for that. He sighs into Steve’s mouth and twists his hand in his friend’s hair, pulling just enough so that Bucky can swivel his head to kiss every bit of Steve’s face that he can reach. His other hand sneaks down to Steve’s pelvis and draws shapes into the soft skin there, and Bucky tries (and fails) to calm his breathing.

Bucky arches is neck, looking up into Steve’s eyes and noting the warmth there. Steve seems to understand, in the way that he slows down, waiting for Bucky’s will despite being on top of him. “I think the food’s gone cold,” Bucky comments with a smirk, though he’s not sure he’s pulled it off what with the heavy breathing, and Steve lifts himself off of Bucky, seemingly surveying what they’d just done.

“That was…better than I thought it would be.” Steve’s still breathing heavily, but he smiles warmly over at Bucky as he picks their plates up. He turns around and takes in a slightly shocked and heavily breathing Bucky, and takes them over to the kitchen to re-heat them.

“You thought about it a lot?” The teasing’s still in Bucky’s voice when he recovers, or so he hopes. He leans forward in anticipation of the answer (of the food, it’s of the food).

Steve calls into him, “Since you reappeared, yeah. Before that…it hurt, to think about you. I tried not to. It usually didn’t work.” Bucky shouldn’t be surprised at the honesty of his answer, but then again, this is _Steve._ “Before the ice I thought about you a lot, obviously. It was hard not to.”

“What about that Agent Carter?”

“Peggy? She’s still alive, y’know. She was one of the few people, including you, that actually valued me before the serum. I could have loved her, maybe. I mean, even if you _had_ told me and I you, we’d have never been able to be together. We could have been killed if anyone had found out.”

The microwave beeps, and Steve opens it and grabs the plates, re-joining Bucky on the couch. This time they sit side by side on the same one.

Bucky wishes he could say that he’d longed for Steve even when he was the Winter Soldier, because it’s what Bucky would have done, were he still himself. But he didn’t, of course. He couldn’t have. That’s the part that gets him the most. “And here you were complaining that I was the downer.” Steve’s looking at him with _that look_ again, and Bucky shakes his head, resting it on Steve’s shoulder. It’s oddly comfortable.

Steve tries again. “You gonna tell me what’s wrong?”

Bucky lifts up his head, looking him in the eye (and definitely not the mouth). “I wish I’d missed you before I was ordered to kill you.” He lets his head plop back down on Steve’s shoulder. It’s not exactly hard to explain- what’s hard is not feeling guilty for it.

Bucky finishes his wrap. Steve already has, and he puts an arm round Bucky. “S’not your fault. I probably didn’t miss you in the ice, if that’s any consolation.”

He rolls his eyes (not that Steve can see). “Yes, but you weren’t conscious when you were in the ice. I was.”

“Wasn’t your fault,” Steve sing-songs, and Bucky huffs a small laugh. “This reminds me of a conversation we’ve had before,” Steve says softly.

Bucky sighs dramatically. “We’re not getting into this again. I win both arguments. The end.” He moves the rest of his body to flop over his side of the couch.

“Not a chance,” Steve replies. He reaches up to stroke Bucky’s head. “Back in a minute,”

Bucky falls back against the warm sofa when Steve stands up. He watches him lazily, pulling himself out of his depressed mind state. _I’ve just achieved something I’ve been wanting since before the Second World War started,_ Bucky tells himself, and when Steve comes back from the kitchen having put their plates in the sink, Bucky is smiling at him again.

Steve grins in approval. “That’s much better,” he exclaims, sitting next to where Bucky’s lying down. Bucky sits up, reaches behind him and feels around for Steve’s legs, which he promptly pulls forward so they’re lying either side of him. Steve laughs, and they shift around a little bit so they’re both comfortable.

Leaning back onto Steve’s chest, Bucky sighs contentedly. Steve’s arm slides around Bucky’s shoulder, and he takes Bucky’s hand in his. Bucky squeezes it lightly, and receives a squeeze back. His brow furrows at a light pressure on his head for a moment, before he realises that Steve is repeatedly smoothing his hair.

“Who am I?” He asks, quietly. Steve audibly takes a breath to answer, but Bucky overrides him as an afterthought. “I mean, right now. In this moment.”

Steve takes a while to answer, but when he does, his voice is honest and open. “You are...whoever you want to be. It’s not up to me to make that decision for you.”

“Who do you want me to be?”

“Yourself.” Bucky closes his eyes.

“I don’t think I can be the Bucky you knew from the 40s. I _want_ to, but I don’t think I can.”

“That’s fine. I want you, whoever you turn out to be, ‘til the end of the line.”

Bucky takes a while before he answers, searching for the right response, but he can’t put it into an eloquent response so he just simply says what he feels. 

“…I love you, Steve.”

* * *

 

They’re not drunk, yet, but it’s only a matter of time. Sam stops drinking first, and he distantly hears Tony mumbling, “Spoil-sport,” before putting his own drink down. Of course there’s no connection from any of them, because that would’ve been a turn in their favour. Sam had let Tony ‘dispose’ of the attackers a while ago, and he doesn’t give any thought to where they might be.

“Does this mean we can definitely tie them to HYDRA?” Tony tries with an annoyed sigh.

“I’m sure HYDRA aren’t the only ones who can mask their trails, Tony. We’re just outta luck on this one.”

“Well, what the hell are we supposed to do?!”

“Hope for the best?”

“Maybe those are the entirety of the people who beat up Steve, and we’ve just foiled their entire plan and everyone is safe now.”

Sam fixes Tony with a look. “And maybe the sky’s actually purple.” Tony rolls his eyes. “Well, JARVIS said we can track them with the signal sent to the virus when it _is_ sent out, so we _could_ wait until that time and then follow it.”

Groaning, Tony grabs his drink again. “And just how much damage does Cap get dealt before we get there?” He points to Sam with his drink, and it sloshes in its cup. “Unfortunately, I think that’s our best plan. We should probably re-locate to near Steve’s place.”

“My place, then?”

“Sure, sure. In the morning.”

Sam stands, and leaves Tony to go to the kitchen. After looking around for a minute, he finds two cups and pours cold water into them. He downs his as he carefully takes the second to Tony. Tony’s finished the bottle they’d been drinking from, and he takes the glass of water with a mumbled “Thanks.”

Sam blinks, raises his eyebrow slightly, and then responds, “What was that?”

“You heard me. You can crash on the couch tonight, if you want, and we can leave,” Tony pauses to yawn, “…bright and early in the morning.”

“Whatever, man. Might want to take another cup of water, though.”

Tony yawns again, heading to the kitchen, and Sam hears the tap turning on and off as JARVIS directs him to a spare sheet and pillow. Sam politely refuses the first, asking for a thinner one. He lies down on the couch, and is about to go to sleep when Tony pokes his head into the room.

Tony seems to assess him, before commenting, “You and Barton would make a good couple,” and disappearing without an explanation.

 _I’ll ask him in the morning,_ Sam thinks as he tries to drift off. It’s a rough night.

* * *

 

_Bucky’s repeating a mantra when something flickers in his view. He’s got to remember. He’s got to make sense of it. He’s staying still, but he’s jostled by something. He continues repeating his lines. He vaguely knows what they are: Name, rank, serial number._

_“Bucky...Oh my god…” The voice is above him and there’s a shape above him. Bucky falls silent as he is released. Straps binding him are torn off, and he looks up. “It’s me, it’s Steve.”_

_Oh! “…Steve!” But Steve’s at home. Steve’s in Brooklyn. How is he here? Steve picks him up, helps him to his feet, and there’s something off about him._

_“Come on.”_

_“Steve!” Bucky repeats, in awe and confusion. He’s not quite sure what’s wrong, but something definitely is. It doesn’t click until he’s standing upright, taking in his surroundings that he’d somehow been blind to, feeling like he’s drunk just a little too much and is now feeling the unpleasant effects. He looks at Steve, takes him in, looks him in the eyes…looks_ up _to look him in the eyes. He barely takes in Steve’s relieved but concerned expression._

 _“I thought you were dead,” Steve exclaims, holding onto Bucky, steadying him. He’s wearing an expression of disbelief and slight horror, and Bucky has noticed what’s different._ Steve _is different._

_“I thought you were smaller?” And he was, wasn’t he? His Steve Rogers is skinny, bony, beautiful. Sick too often, though Bucky doesn’t like that part much. This Steve is different- muscular, tall, strong. Healthy. Everything his Steve wanted to be, now that Bucky thought about it._

_Bucky has to lean heavily on Steve and is almost dragged out by him when they leave the small room. Strange, distant sounds echo down to them, and Bucky wonders what’s happening. Steve’s rescuing him, that part is obvious. The feeling is returning to his limbs and he finds himself better able to keep pace with his friend. “What happened to you?”_

_“I joined the army!” replies Steve, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. When did that happen?_

_Apparently it happened when Bucky was away. Steve had let himself be used for an experiment and put on super drugs. Steve’s lucky they’re in a HYDRA base, ‘cause if they were_ anywhere else, _Bucky would have told him_ exactly _what he thinks of that. He should have known Steve would do anything to get into the damned army._

_“Did it hurt?” Bucky almost doesn’t want to know._

_“A little.”_

_“Is it permanent?”_

_“So far,” Steve sing-songs, annoyingly chipper for their situation._

_Steve appears to know where he’s going, or just is very good at pretending it, so Bucky lets himself follow him. It’s funny, how Steve can seem more like himself in this moment than he has since the war began. Wait, funny? Bucky means depressing._

_His internal timeline isn’t making any sense, so he must’ve been in this place for longer than he’d thought. Bucky had received a letter from Steve a week before they’d been captured by HYDRA, so a lot of time must have passed for Steve to have gotten into the army, trained, been experimented on, and that other thing that Steve said had happened for months but hadn’t actually told him about. He’d have to ask Steve about that later._

_Explosions were less frightening when they weren’t collapsing a building around you, Bucky decided. He’d followed Steve into a massive hall which was currently self-destructing. They were on one of many levels to the open factory room. He followed Steve but both jerked around at the sound of the German man’s voice. “Captain America! How exciting! I'm a great fan of your films!”_

_…What?_

_They found themselves at a parallel. A scientist Bucky vaguely recognised from somewhere mirrored him leaning onto a railing as the German man and Steve met half-way across the room on a catwalk. The man rambles on about having left humanity behind and_ pulls off his face _, throwing it into the inferno below them. “You don’t have one of those, do you?”_

_Bucky decides indefinitely that this man is an asshole when he forces Steve onto his back, and his heart leaps into his mouth with fear for him- but Steve’s stronger now, and he kicks the man backwards too. The scientist pulls some lever to separate the two sides of the catwalk, and Steve returns to Bucky’s side (how it should be). There goes their escape on the other side._

_They’re left in a daze as the two other men leave, before_ fire _and_ explosions _regain their attention. They run up flights of stairs, looking for a means of escape, and they find it. A beam connecting the two sides of the chamber._

_It’s not a surprise that Steve gets Bucky to go first. He balances himself, and is honestly quite proud that he doesn’t stumble and fall at this point. The beam shifts underneath him, and he tries to go faster…his heart sinks as he makes the last jump. The beam falls, and he is on the other side. Flipping over the railing, he turns to Steve. The explosions are getting violent, but it’s nothing compared to the frantic beating of Bucky’s heart._

_He can’t lose Steve now._

_“There’s gotta be a rope of somethin’!” he screams to Steve, who’s looking around with wide eyes. He turns to Bucky._

_“Just go! Get outta here!” Steve waves for Bucky to leave._

_Fuck that._

_“No! Not without you!”_

_There is no way in hell that he’s going without Steve, and if that means he has to die, he will, ‘cause at least he’ll be with Steve in death. Bucky looks around for something to help, but they’ve run out of time. He wishes he’d had time to tell Steve how he feels, briefly, but he banishes such thoughts and focuses everything on Steve._

_His world stops when Steve jumps, the fire seemingly engulfing him._

_Somehow, Steve makes the jump. “Oh, Stevie,” Bucky mumbles under his breath as they clutch each other. He might be crying. He’s not sure. They make it out, holding each other for as long as they can, and Steve’s arms, though bigger, stronger and more muscular, still carry the same safe haven in their embrace as they always have._

Bucky comes to in the same embrace, so many years later, when Bucky’s strength matches Steve’s own. They’ve kept their activities to a minimum, only doing what they need to and wasting the day (although wasting isn’t exactly the right term in this case) wrapped up in each other. Bucky does not receive as many intrusive thoughts today as he usually does- Steve is a beacon of light in Bucky’s eyes, warding off the bad. Of course Bucky knows this isn’t strictly true, but he enjoys believing it anyway because Steve has always given off the beacon of light persona anyway. It suits him.

He’s sprawled on top of Steve, on his couch. He doesn’t know quite what to make of this memory, so he squeezes Steve just that much tighter and softly kisses the side of his mouth. _What a world we live in,_ he thinks.

* * *

 

He was never amazing with emotions, but Steve figures that being torn between pure happiness and fear isn’t the right way to go.

He hasn’t gotten over the fact that it’s only been about four days and they’re doing…this. Part of him thinks it’s a dream and he’ll wake up alone- for this reason, Steve doesn’t fall asleep in the comforting hold of Bucky’s. It tightens slightly, and Steve knows Bucky is awake, and he sighs with pleasure when Bucky kisses his mouth.

He doesn’t think he’ll be getting over it any time soon.

He wants to fully enjoy it, but he feels like Bucky’s a ghost, and might disappear if he lets go of the moment for just a second. He doesn’t realize he’s hyperventilating until Bucky shifts above him, pulling him up into a sitting position and rubbing his back, brows creased in shock and concern. “Steve? Steve, what’s wrong?”

Steve closes his eyes and clenches his fist next to him. He shouldn’t be the one needing all the reassurances, but then he was always the weaker out of the two, even during the Howling Commandos period. “Sorry, Buck. Missed you, ‘s all.”

“I’ve been right here, pal,” Bucky responds lightly, but his eyes convey that he knows what Steve means.

He can’t say anything else; he doesn’t know what else to say, so he cups Bucky’s cheek with one hand and kisses him lightly on the lips. It’s a dream. He’s dreaming, because only in one of Steve’s better dreams would Bucky’s lips be this soft, and only in one of Steve’s much better dreams would Bucky want Steve to kiss him in the first place.

It’s only been hours since it started. Steve figures he’s doomed, but pulls Bucky back down for more vigorous kissing anyway. It’s not as if Bucky objects.

* * *

 

Late, Steve falls asleep. Bucky can tell because the almost unnoticeable tension in Steve’s body leaves him when he drifts off. Intrusive thoughts come then, briefly.

 _‘He’s asleep. Complete the mission now while there’s no retaliation,’_ fights with him for moments before Steve’s hand subconsciously grasps his tighter. It feels right, he thinks, to be Steve protector now, even only against his own mind. Anyhow, it shuts the voice up, and Bucky falls asleep too, cradling Steve’s body against his own.

_He reads the letter in privacy. It’s written in Steve’s handwriting, but it’s a little messier than he remembers, and he wonders why._

_‘Bucky,_

_You better be doing just fine, because if you’re not, you’ll find more annoyance from me than you will from the soldiers you’re fighting. Of course I’m fine, I’m back at home in Brooklyn just like always. It’s boring here, Buck, you wouldn’t believe. Struggling a bit for money, but that’s normal and there’s not much I can do about it._

_I know you asked for pictures, and I treasure the ones you sent me. They’re enclosed with the letter, hopefully. See, Brooklyn’s just as boring as ever. You asked me in your last letter for pictures with me in them next time, but I’m afraid I just ~~couldn’t~~ got camera fright and didn’t take any. Pathetic, I know. _

_As for girls, you know that story. None of these girls ~~like me for who I~~ give me a second thought because of my weakness, and who can blame them. I’m surprised even you put up with me. _

_Sorry for the shortness of the letter, but I gotta go, I’m ~~on~~ going to the shop and I need to get it done before they close. _

_I miss you._

_Steve’_

_There’s an oddness to Steve’s letters that Bucky can’t quite place, and he really hoped for pictures with Steve in them this time, but he’s just glad that Steve’s safe at home in Brooklyn and glad for the letter. So he brushes over the mistakes, not really noticing how out of place they are._

_They’re all captured the following week. It’s at some point on the way back from Austria that Bucky brings up Schmidt’s reference to ‘his films’ and that period of time Steve tried to brush over._

_“As long as you promise not to laugh.”_

_“You’re really embarrassed about it, aren’t you? C’mon, Steve, spill it.”_

_“For months, I was the focus of an advertising campaign.”_

_“…Go on.”_

_“Basically, this,” Steve opens his coat wide enough so that Bucky gets a good look at the dirtied red, white and blue under it. “This is what I had to wear. Actually, I might still have to.” Steve shudders._

_“You’re leaving things out, Steve.”_

_“Yes, yes, I’m getting to it. Um, I had to read speeches off the back of this shield to sell bonds.”_

_Bucky raises his eyebrow at Steve, noting how red his cheeks have gone. It’s kinda cute._

_“Colonel Phillips described it best: a chorus girl. And that’s a summary of the past few months of my life.”_

_“And remind me, when did you get into the army?”_

_“Right after you left.”_

_“Wow. So…all the letters you sent me…”_

_“Written after the serum, in my breaks from the shows.” Steve’s grimace shows that he’s following Bucky’s line of thought, and Bucky stays silent, thinking. After a few moments of silence between them, Steve adds, “I’m sorry for lying in the letters, Buck, I really am. I just thought…I didn’t want you to worry about me. Plus I was, understandably, embarrassed about the whole Captain America thing.”_

_Bucky looks (up!) at Steve, and tells him, “We’re together now.” As if that solves all their problems. Which it does, in a way. “And hey, Captain America just rescued a whole bunch of soldiers from the Nazis. I think you’ve reclaimed the name.” He smirks, not as cocky as he was before he left, but enough of himself to put Steve at ease. It’s all he really wanted._

* * *

 

They wake up to find their limbs entangled together, and they laugh about it as Steve gets up to check their stock of food.

Bucky stretches audibly from the living room, and Steve chuckles to himself from the kitchen. There isn’t much food, and he tells Bucky so. “Help yourself to whatever you want, I’m going to go out to get stuff.”

“Get more this time so we can hide out in your house. You got hardly any last time and you’ve been out already this week,” Bucky complains jokingly, and the reality that Bucky’s staying for more than ‘this week’ makes Steve giddy for a second.

He leaves Bucky to assess the contents of the kitchen while he goes to get dressed like a civilized person. He pulls on his clothes and uses the bathroom in autopilot, attention focused on marveling at his friend (if that’s what they still are). He’s quite frankly shocked that they’ve gotten this far in four days, but then, it took less than this amount of time for Bucky to decide that his life was worth saving from drowning in the Potomac, and it’s hard to believe that the Bucky from then is the same as the Bucky from now, sort of.

He grabs $100 just in case, because he still hasn’t _really_ gotten the hang of modern pricing yet, and catches Bucky on the way out, bestowing upon him a deep but short kiss which has Bucky giggling. “I’ve left your new phone in the drawer next to my bed. It’s off now, but you might want to check it in a while in case I’ve texted you or something.”

“Sure thing, Stevie.” Bucky smiles at him lovingly as Steve leaves, and what did he ever do to deserve this, because he sure as hell wants to do it again.

He feels disconnected from the world as he walks, like he’s in a dream. He loses a good twenty minutes for just being out of focus, and he mentally slaps himself as he reaches the shops he wants to go into.

It’s quite simple to get a few packets of this and that. He buys two of those nice packet macaroni and cheeses he’s sure Bucky will enjoy just as much as he does, and stays clear of the bananas. He’s sure he attracts quite a few awe-struck gazes, but this time he’s oblivious to them when they happen.

He doesn’t spend the whole $100, thankfully, and when he leaves the store he feels free and happy for the first time in a long while. He’s got Bucky back, he’s not facing some vile threat and he’s just been shopping like a normal person.

He fails to notice the shadow tailing him in his peaceful mind state until it’s too late.

He turns the corner onto a quiet street and suddenly there are no pedestrians surrounding him anymore. He remains calm, hoping that he can get home before anything happens, and maybe it’s just a trick of the mind? Nevertheless, he fiddles with his hi-tech phone in his pocket and calls the Bucky contact recently added to it. The phone’s still off; he’s not surprised. He sends short texts as he walks, just in case. He’s slowly getting closer to his apartment.

_Might be in trouble. –Steve_

_Possibility of being followed. –Steve_

He walks faster the closer he gets, but it’s still so far away, so he keeps his cool by updating Bucky’s phone on little details.

_On my way back. –Steve_

_Things are looking okay now. Still wary though. Not sure. –Steve_

_Never mind, am being followed. –Steve_

_I dislike this empty street. –Steve_

The last text he sends is, _Shit –Ste_ before he’s taken off guard by an intense pain, _everywhere._ He’d been ready for an attacker, but not this. He hears a vehicle coming and footsteps running towards him but is too busy convulsing on the sidewalk to do anything about it. Dark material covers his head and his limp body is picked up and dragged, supposedly into the vehicle he’d heard.

He tries to remain calm, trapped in his not responding body. _Bucky, Bucky, what will I tell him, what will he think when I’m late? Please turn on your phone, please understand. Please stay safe._

He is knocked unconscious as the vehicle begins to move.      

He comes to on his side in what seems like a large, bright laboratory. _Just like some villain’s lair out of a crappy modern film._ There are computers too modern to be a good sign in this situation built into the walls, and multiple tables covered with tools Steve doesn’t particularly want to pay close attention to. The exit isn’t concealed at all, a large set of double-doors around ten steps higher than the rest of the lab. Perhaps it doesn’t need to be, seeing as there are at least ten people here that Steve can see, and some behind him that he can’t, that could easily overpower any normal person who would try to escape. Not to mention that the doors look like they’re hooked up to the computers anyway.

On the few areas of the walls that aren’t covered, Steve can make out a few familiar faces amongst strangers. _That’s Zola, Red Skull, Madame HYDRA…_

He tries to keep his breathing consistent and his eyes as closed as they can be without actually _being_ closed, but there’s a very deliberate cough directly behind him so Steve knows he’s failed.

“Please turn over, Captain. We know you’re awake.” The voice behind him is attached to a face as Steve turns over, crying out in pain as the movement disagrees with his head, and he sees stars (oh, the irony). Steve fails to recognize anyone present.

The man looming over him chuckles darkly at his outburst. “A little headache’s the least of your problems right now. Behold, we have the legendary Captain America in our custody!” He spreads his arms towards the others in the room, and they jeer at Steve.

A bitter feeling like acid wells in him, and he tries to stand- he’s stopped by chains wrapped around parts of his body. _How did I not notice them?_ He pulls, harder, because he’s supposed to be able to break them, but they hold strong. 

The man above him shakes his head in a patronizing manner, wagging his finger back and forth. “Adamantium chains. That means not even you can break them.” He smirks, and Steve should just- just what? There is no room for thoughts like those. Steve takes a deep breath, and lies down again, remaining still and waiting for them to make the next move.

“That’s it, that’s a good soldier. My, you will make a good assassin, won’t you?”

_What._

“Well, what did you think we were going to do? _Kill_ you?” Steve doesn’t respond, trying to tame the panic coiling in his gut, but he stiffens. “No, no. We’re going to turn you into the greatest assassin there has ever been!” Steve’s hands clench, and he takes a breath and relaxes himself before he answers.

“The Winter Soldier is the greatest assassin there has ever been.” He’s not even proud that his voice doesn’t shake; this is what he does.

“ _So far._ But don’t you worry, we’re still tracking him down, and when we find him we’ll take him back and you can work together! As a pair again, best friends reunited, isn’t that wonderful? Except you will have no memories of each other, of course.”

Steve feels himself tense. _They will not get him again. Never again._

“Struck a nerve, have we? Well, console yourself with this; you’ll be so lost by the time we bring him back you won’t even flinch as he _screams_ in agony, and he loses his mind once more. And he’ll know.” He laughs again, cold and without mirth, and it is echoed by some other people in the room. Most have gone back to what they were already doing on their computers or fiddling with appliances. “There’s a lot to go until then, however. Your mind needs to be prepared.”

The man motions to the few still watching them, and they rush to Steve with syringes. He throws his head, trying to break the chains again, but to no avail.

One of the men hisses in his ear, “He means you’re screwed. _Hail HYDRA._ ” He’s injected in more than one place by several men, and aching pains erupt from his shoulder, stomach and ankle. His body attempts to curl in on itself, but he just cuts himself on the chains. His struggling weakens slowly and he falls backwards.

Soon it becomes difficult to lift a finger, then to move, then to keep his eyes open. Pale faces stare down at him until they blur out of his vision and disappear.

He wakes up again leaning against a wall, sitting upright. He is once again chained, to various hooks on the wall; the place was obviously created for this purpose. The room, he notices, is a little like the hospital he stayed in after Bucky saved him from drowning. The men are ignoring him for now.

His arms are held beside him at uncomfortable angles by said chains, Steve suspects on purpose. He looks down to see that the cuts he’d gotten from earlier had almost healed already. His eyes scan the room for a clock or something similar, but there isn’t anything that could help him tell how much time had passed.

“Awake again!” Steve jerks at the sound of the man’s voice. It’s the same man from earlier. Steve is able to take in his appearance as he stalks closer. He’s wearing a white lab coat ( _typical)_ with black boots, black pants and a black shirt emblazoned with the HYDRA logo. Hate flares in Steve at the sight, and he nearly growls. Nearly.

The man kneels down next to him and lifts his hand to Steve’s face, touching him in a mockery of a caress. Steve flinches away, baring his teeth at the man, who smiles in response. “Oh, how rude of me. I haven’t even given you anything to call me by…you can call me Sir.”

Steve’s eyes narrow at the man, and he spits. “Fuck you.” He doesn’t swear that much, and this attitude isn’t one he really tends to adopt, but damn if he doesn’t feel like he _wants_ to kick their asses right back to World War II.

The man sighs dramatically, before standing and walking away. Steve doesn’t let his confusion show on his face, but he understands when the man returns with a rake. Internally, he laughs to himself. _How primitive._

The man shrugs. Then, quick as a flash, he brings the rake down on Steve’s face- it comes away with its ends stained crimson, and Steve lets out a strangled yell, blood dripping down into his mouth and on the floor. “The brilliant thing about you, Captain, is that you have remarkable regenerative powers. Which means I can do things like this with no consequences! Wonderful, yes?”

Steve only glares at him, trying to ignore the wetness he feels on the side of his face. The man sighs again. “So, what are you going to call me?” It’s resigned; he knows Steve’s not going to give in this easily. Steve also knows that this is just for fun, and what Steve does is of no consequence, because this will happen to him no matter what he does.

Raising his eyebrows with some difficulty, he pretends to consider it, deciding on “Asshole number one.” The man rolls his eyes, and hefts the rake.

He swings it from the other side this time, and the sound of his skin ripping makes Steve gag on his cry of pain. His face whips round at the impact and a rainbow of his own blood sprays from his face onto the wall next to him. He closes his eyes to the sight.

“You know what? I’m going to give you time to heal, and I’ll let you call me by my name instead: Dr Frank Handler. How’s that?” Steve opens his eyes to hold the man’s gaze for a few seconds before the stabbing pain becomes too much and he closes them again, hanging his head. “That’s what I thought.”

The clicking of Handler’s boots mock him in his disgrace, waiting for his body to repair itself. He hopes Bucky’s doing okay.

It’s not much less painful when Steve’s skin grows and knits back together, but he prefers this pain. He doesn’t mean to groan, but he does, and Handler’s chuckle is so sinister Red Skull would be proud. He reopens his eyes and the brightness of the lab jars him, and he flinches away, arms straining to shield his eyes but on the verge of cramp when they can’t get past the chains. Steve forces himself still to avoid more unnecessary pain.

“A wise idea. Play the audio loop, please.” Slowly Steve opens his eyes again, and Handler has an anticipatory expression on his face. At first Steve can’t hear anything, but it gets louder so he can make out a sort of a…drum beat?

_Wait, those aren’t drums. It’s a train._

“Call me old-fashioned, but…I do prefer these trains to the modern ones. They’re a little louder, and a little more in-your-face. I’m sure you recognize the sound of this type of train particularly well.”

And he does, unfortunately. Many a nightmare used this sound as a scare tactic. He’s not surprised that it’s working now, and he concentrates on his breathing, ignoring his rising heartbeat and the train increasing in volume. At Handler’s signal the volume stabilizes, and he turns to Steve, grinning. “This is where our fun begins, Captain.”   

Handler picks up scissors from a nearby desk, inspecting them before methodically cutting away the clothing Steve has on. The cool metal doesn’t agree with him, his body lashing out to get away. He accidentally impales his thigh on them, and Handler just raises an eyebrow at him. Steve grits his teeth, looking away, but his attention is brought back to Handler when the man violently twists the scissors before pulling them out of his leg. Steve bites down a scream.

He tenses his body but he shivers when the scissors, now wet with his blood, touch his skin to cut the material away.

Handler returns to the table to grab a small box. When he comes back, kneels in front of Steve, brushing the shredded clothing out of the way, and holds the box up for Steve to see. It’s a box of matches. Steve’s not sure if it’s in his mind, but the train seems to have gotten louder.  

Handler slides the matches out and empties them to the floor. Picking one up, he presents it to Steve like he did the box, before striking it on the side of the box, setting it aflame. He presents this, too, to Steve before flicking it onto Steve’s chest. Steve hits his head on the wall in his attempt to get away from it, but the match burns into his flesh, the light smoke carrying a smell horrible enough to make a normal man vomit.

Involuntarily, tears slip out of Steve’s eyes, and if he could, he’d rub them away. He writhes on the floor to no avail.

Without waiting for that one to go out, Handler picks up another match, presents it to Steve, strikes it, presents it to Steve. This one he specifically places into the wound he’d made with the scissors, adding intense agony to an already painful part of Steve.

The train is hurting his head now, and it’s all he can hear apart from the sizzling of his skin. He goes limp, the pain becoming enough that he just chooses not to fight it.

A third match goes through the same process before being placed in Steve’s open palm. This one he can avoid, and he tries to throw it away. Handler has other ideas. Grabbing his hand, Handler shakes his head. Steve whimpers, making Handler smile. Handler closes Steve’s fingers over the match, and his hand is literally and figuratively on fire. Steve could still throw it away, but he doesn’t see the point.

“Lovely.” Handler sits back at watches the flames burn. Steve watches too. The wounds look sick and black and disgusting. His hand, he can’t bear to look at. The injuries throb in time with the train’s motion.

Steve’s breathing hitches every time a flame decides to become that little bit bigger, burning just that little bit more of him. His writhing has all but stopped, his limbs feeling too heavy to move much. Eventually the matches runs out and the flames are extinguished, and Handler stands up, taking the matches off of Steve.

“I’ll just let you heal, again. Are you enjoying yourself?”

“I could do this all day.”

“Of course.” Handler’s tone is condescending, and he rolls his eyes before he walks away again, seemingly preparing Steve’s next torture. “Cut the sound,” he calls, and the train audio disappears, but Steve thinks he can still hear it, distantly.

It feels like fire all over again when his injuries begin to heal properly. The scissor wound sparks pain deep within his leg, added to the burning sensation of the dead skin being gotten rid of. He gasps at the same thing happening to his hand, and his chest.

It’s then when he realizes that he’s practically naked. Handler chooses this time to glance at him, and something in Steve’s expression must give him away, because Handler smirks cruelly again. However, he walks back up to Steve with multiple syringes.

“I’d say this won’t hurt a bit, but, well…it will.” He stabs Steve in the same places as last time, and Steve tries his best not to tense up, because that would just make it more painful. The fluids are injected into him again, and he loses consciousness with much less resistance than he had given before.

He wakes up clothed. When he inspects the clothes, he notices the HYDRA logo on it, and almost wishes to be in shreds again; it would be kinder on his dignity, which, he supposes, is why they did it.          

He tenses up when Handler comes near him again, but his hands are raised.

“No, no, I’m not going to inflict physical pain on you, captain. Not yet. I’m just here to watch your reaction. We’re about to put on a long compilation of audio files, which I’m sure you’ll find quite interesting.”

Steve can’t even find it in him to voice his horror as it begins to play, somehow worse than it’s ever been in his nightmares. He struggles, desperately trying to cover his ears, hands _just_ out of reach, before he’s just forced to stay still, crying softly to the sound of Bucky’s tortured screams.

* * *

 

It’s been two hours when Bucky starts to get nervous. Steve hasn’t been gone this long before and especially after what happened the day before, Bucky is very reliant on Steve’s presence. He performs simple breathing exercises to keep his cool, and he returns to re-reading his file.

Another hour goes by.

Bucky tosses the file haphazardly across the table, and some loose sheets fall to the floor. He’ll pick them up later. Biting his lip, he paces around the room before remembering the phone. He practically runs into Steve’s bedroom, yanking the drawer open with more force than is truly necessary. He turns it on the way Steve had told him to, returning to the living room and leaning against the larger table in the kitchen.

His breath catches in his throat at the welcoming message: “I’m with you ‘til the end of the line.” It’s almost enough to calm him- Steve wouldn’t just leave him, would he?

The screen flashes on, and he makes sure to hold the device extra carefully in his metal hand. The little letter icon has the number 7 by it, which must mean there are 7 messages. He taps it with his human hand, and the screen switches to a page with ‘Steve’ in text at the top.

He stops breathing when he reads the texts. When he does exhale, it’s in time to his metal fist coming down on the table. It can’t, _it can’t_ be real, it just can’t, because he only just got Steve back _days_ ago and _they kissed yesterday, and in what reality is this fair?_     

He tugs at his hair, panting heavily, and he just snaps. The table is the first thing to break, but he just can’t stop himself. A strangled sob leaves his mouth and a chair goes flying, cracking against a wall. A nearby lamp also meets its end in Bucky’s fist, or rather, one part in Bucky’s fist, the other part smashed next to the couch-

Steve’s couch. Bucky freezes. These are _Steve’s things_ he’s destroying. Closing his eyes with a loud, broken sob, he sinks to his knees. He’s hyperventilating because all he can think of is Steve, who’s in trouble and there’s nothing Bucky can do.

Except there might be.

His head pounding, he rises to his feet and stumbles to the tumble drier where he knows Steve has cleaned the clothes Bucky had been wearing before he’d arrived. He spots them easily- black and uniform against Steve’s casual clothes. He strips frantically and pulls everything on, and there’s something tugging on his mind. The other persona.

_Not now, not now, dammit!_

Violence pulls at him, but he shakes his head as if to ward it away. _Friend, not mission. Never again._ He receives a protective surge reminiscent of ’44, and _thanks, that was useful._

It’s the most inconvenient time to get a pounding headache that comes with warring personalities that makes Bucky’s skin crawl, but it happens anyway. He groans in pain, slumping to the floor, clutching his head. Maybe if he just stops resisting, it’ll wash over him quicker.

So he does.

It feels like a memory…more than a memory, like many memories at once, from both before his ‘death’ and after, and he didn’t expect it to feel this…good. And he lets it happen, his fear momentarily taking a back seat.

It’s like an epiphany of sorts; he understands, he remembers. He _is_ Bucky Barnes. He is who he’s become with Steve. He is the boy that went off to war to protect his best friend, and only ended up dragging him into it. He is the man who died falling off a train, and the man who survived because he was experimented on by the people he hated most. He is the Winter Soldier.

And more importantly, he is the man who will personally send whoever has harmed Steve _the slightest bit_ down to hell.

He stands up again, a bit shakily, but almost completely clear-minded for the first time in a good while. The weapons he carried on him were small, but Steve had clearly been thorough in keeping them from his washing machine. Bucky throws open cabinets, one after the other until he finds the little stash. Not hidden, just put away.

Sheathing them in various pockets on his person, he takes the phone. He lets instincts take over in hacking into the phone, his metal hand actually being of use. He pulls up the Steve contact, and manages to track the location of the phone within minutes.

He’s not so stupid to believe that the phone will be on Steve’s person, but it’s a start. He dashes into Steve’s room to pick up the shield for him, before moving to leave. He will always find Steve; Bucky’s with him ‘til the end of the line.  

* * *

 

“Tony, does this mean what I think it means?” Sam’s staring at a screen of one of Tony’s whimsical gadgets, and there’s a location on the screen with a target pointed at it. Despite being in Tony’s private plane, they still have a little while to go until they get to DC; their early morning plan hadn’t worked like it was supposed to because apparently Pepper didn’t want Tony pulling any stunts while she was away. Sam can’t really blame her.

Tony slides in beside him and his eyes widen. “Yes. Yes, it does.”

“Get the plane to go faster!”

“It is going faster!”

Sam groans and leans back. “We should check Steve’s apartment first. Just in case we can head these guys off before they can collect him.”

“Yeah, sure,” Tony tells him, clearly distracted. Sam raises an eyebrow and waits. “We’re close enough that you should be able to fly down and get to his apartment quicker than if you don’t. I can get my own suit together and put the co-ordinates into the suit too so we’re ready to go.”

“One problem with that plan: How are you planning to get me to fly?”

“Well, you’re the Falcon, obviously.”

“Not without the wings I’m not.”

“Which is why I happen to have the wings.” Tony disappears for a moment while Sam sits in shock. Tony returns with the Falcon gear and his own gathered up in his arms.

“How in the hell-?!”

“Easy. I’m rich, and I’m a fan. Suit up!” Tony takes his own suit into the other room, leaving Sam to hastily take his and put it on as quickly as he can.

He takes a look out of the window of the plane to see where they actually are, and Tony’s right, they’re not too far. He identifies areas from afar, but he needs to get closer in order to see where exactly to go. Sam turns around as he hears Tony enter.

“You go on ahead. I’ll stay for a bit to make sure I have all the info I need. I’ll meet you outside Steve’s apartment block.”

Sam nods, before pulling open the hatch to get out. He slips out as quickly as he can, and when he looks up, Tony’s closing it behind him. Sam activates the wings and glides downwards. He grins at the feel of the wind on his face, like he does every time. It never gets old.

When he gets close enough to the ground that he can make out buildings, he searches for the area he wants. He knows he’s not that discreet, but hey, they live in a world where superheroes are common knowledge.

Steve’s apartment block comes into view after a few minutes, so he lands a street away where it’s more open and easier to land. His wings fold up again and he jogs the rest of the way. A few kids take pictures on their phones, but his focus is concentrated on his destination.

He bounds up the stairs and through the corridors until he gets to Steve’s apartment. He tries the door; it isn’t locked.

“Steve? Steve, are you in-”

Sam takes in the broken table and smashed chair, the lamp in two pieces across the room. “…Steve?”

He’s too late. In the kitchen the cabinets are all open like someone was looking for something, but that’s about it. He returns to the living room and surveys it. On the table between two sofas there’s the file Natasha got for Steve about Bucky. It’s messy and unorganized- some sheets have even fallen to the floor. Not like Steve at all.

They must have taken him from the apartment, then.

With one last look at the room, he shuts the door behind him and jogs out to meet Tony.

“Anything?” Tony greets him in full Iron Man armor.

Sam grimaces. “Steve wasn’t there but the place was _messed up._ Looked like a fight.”

“Well then, we stick to the plan. Follow me, I have the place up on my screen.”

Sam nods, and they take to the air. Time to kick some ass.

* * *

 

After Steve had retreated into himself, shaking violently, Handler had shut off the audio, claiming that it was now “not as fun.”

Currently, Handler’s hand grips Steve’s hair to the point of sharp pain, holding him down into a large body of water. Steve struggles, but it’s fruitless. He’s tied down by these- Adamantium, was it?- chains and surrounded by his enemies.

He attempts to gasp and coughs into the water. His eyes sting, his lungs scream. Suddenly he’s ripped out of the water, and he takes in a massive gulp of air, blinded and bound with nothing more than the painful grip on the back of his head allowing him to move.

He’s forced back down just as quickly and he almost can’t think. He’s just so tired, but his body won’t allow him to stop reacting, and he jerks and convulses and it just makes his scalp hurt more, his lungs burn more.

His eyes open the tiniest fraction, and he could swear he sees a hand reaching down at him like on _that day,_ but he’s ripped back out again, head reeling, and it’s clear that he was hallucinating. _Fantastic._

His legs are knocked from underneath him and Steve falls, forehead hitting the floor with a loud, sickening smack. He groans and curls into himself, a giant throbbing pain resonating from his head, and the ground’s moving slightly beneath him so he must be being dragged somewhere. His side hits a wall- he’s only been moved a few inches.  

When he’s let go, his head hangs and he shields it with his torso and arms as much as he can. A strong grip, Handler’s presumably, wrenches Steve’s head back up and straightens his body out. A strangled scream forces its way from his throat when a sharp, cold pole is thrust into his stomach. The sickening squelch of his insides makes him close his eyes tight, and he shivers at the damp spreading from the wound.

With another thrust from Handler, and another cry from Steve, the pole makes it through to the other side of his body. “Heal around this,” Handler tells him, and drops him.

Steve collapses to the floor, curled up in what could be a ball if not for the pole he’s impaled on, pulsing a mixture of pain and numbness. There are still chains connecting him to the wall, but it’s not as if he could do much damage in his state. He wonders how much time has passed: is it minutes or days?

He’s no stranger to time and its devilry, so he assumes that it’s closer to the former. He’s violently shaking now, sprawled out on the floor. Vaguely he wonders, _what happened to the stuff I bought?_ And though it’s hardly a priority, the possibilities run wild in his head, because he’s certain he’ll make it out of this. And then he’ll have a hell of a lot of apologizing to do to Bucky, but it’ll be okay in the end, because they’ll kiss and make up, and hopefully kiss and make out.

Steve grits his teeth as his body does start to heal around the pole, and he twists, ramming the pole against the wall to jerk it about, choking on a breath in the process to disrupt the healing.

A few HYDRA agents look over at him, but they just give him patronizing looks and return to whatever the hell it is they’re doing. He doesn’t particularly matter to them. He repeats his action, grunting in pain, and when nobody moves to stop him, he does it again.

Daring to look down, crimson meets his eyes, along with a stuffed hole in his body. He looks away quickly, the blood making him slightly nervous. _It shouldn’t. I’m used to this. I’m fine._

He blinks in surprise when Handler stalks towards him, then stops in his tracks, facing away from him. It’s the first time he’s seen him hesitate. Handler walks cautiously towards the large double-doors, cocking his head, and now Steve can tell why.

A metallic scratching sound reaches Steve’s ears, but he’s distracted by a stretching pain in his stomach. Ignoring everything else in the room, he turns and rams the side of the pole into the wall. An involuntary yelp escapes him when his chains dig into his skin enough to leave marks, adding to the agony of the pole through his chest, but it’s worth it, he thinks.

Meanwhile, the scratching continues, louder, and Steve looks around to see the HYDRA men in varying states of confusion and fear. His eyes dart around the room- computers, tables, devices, scientists…Nothing he can use, nothing that he can do except _stay still._ It’s infuriating. He twists again, jarring the pole in his stomach, which still feels alien and wrong and somewhat like a tooth in need of a filling. A spike of pain shoots through him and through his spine, up to his head, and he goes limp.

His head droops, and he’s lifeless, vision blurred. He slumps over, accidentally putting pressure on the pole, sending more spikes through his spine. His eyes sting with unshed tears he doesn’t mean to create, and his brows furrow together as his head throbs. Steve’s breathing becomes audible and riddled with tiny whimpers, and he doesn’t dare move anymore.

 _This isn’t exactly the way I pictured my death,_ is the one thought he can translate amongst the babble and confusion in his head. The scratching is louder, and through his closed eyes Steve sees frantic shadows moving quickly from them blocking the light from his view as they do.

The muttering reaches him distantly, panicked words and snapped replies. Another thought breaches his mind. _I hope Bucky will be okay._

Steve’s breathing begins to stutter, and he hasn’t felt helpless in this way since before he became Captain America. It’s nice, he supposes. Back to the beginning, sort of. Where exactly is he, again? Shouldn’t Bucky be with him? He’s usually with Steve when he’s about to die. Steve doesn’t like it, though, because Bucky’s always sad and crying when that happens. Steve always wants to tell him, “You’ll be better. You’ll get over it. You can have a life, a good one, that isn’t just looking out for me in alleyways and trying to get enough money for the both of us.” He always wants to tell him that Bucky would be so much better off without him, and this is the reason why Steve tends to be more peaceful than not when he’s about to die. Because he knows Bucky will get something out of it.

He’s not so sure about that now.

An unearthly screech jerks Steve back to the world, his eyes flashing open but fluttering at the bright light. He sways and his head bobs, and once again the pole moves inside him. The resulting flame up his back causes his head to loll backwards onto his shoulder. Distantly he notes that the scream he hears is his own.

The screech comes again, elongated, and his head seems to dislike it, judging from the stabbing it internally re-enacts. Not really in control over his own body anymore, Steve grits his teeth again a broken sob that makes itself known against Steve’s will. _If I’m going to die, can’t I just die already?_

The “Steve!” that comes from the direction the screech did draws his attention. _Ah, sweet hallucinations._ His eyes flutter open, his vision blurring. That’s when the fight begins. The scientists, who Steve had all but forgotten about by this point, rushed at the figure by the door. Not wanting to see him ripped apart, Steve decides to focus on the doors instead; they’ve been ripped apart, somehow, electricity sparking from them and a large hole torn through.

Dazed, his gaze drifts back to the one at the door- he doesn’t want to admit to himself who he thinks it is- and finds him intact. Several HYDRA people lie motionless on the floor. Steve blinks. It’s not him. It can’t be him.

More HYDRA people go up against him, armed with items Steve recognizes from what had littered the tables. They swing, and Steve flinches, and the man ducks. With superhuman fluency, the man spins in the air, somehow managing to flip one of the men across the room. The man ducks, dodging a swing from behind, and kicks out- another of Steve’s holders goes down, weapon clattering from his hands.

 _It’s like dancing,_ Steve notes, his vision going between normal and just specks of colored light. He sways to the beat of non-existent music, jerking backwards and consequently crying out in renewed pain when a HYDRA agent is propelled across the lab and lands a foot away from him.

It might be his imagination, but the fighting on the man’s part becomes quicker, deadlier. It doesn’t matter, though; Steve’s barely paying an attention to that. The agent that lies dead next to him has a weapon, and if Steve can _just_ move a _little_ forward…

He shuffles a little bit, letting out a small whimper when the pole moves inside him again, but the pain has spread throughout him so he adjusts to it, embraces it, ignores it. The chains around his legs reach their maximum length, and he’s stopped on that front. However. He reaches forward…it’s a knife he’s reaching for, he can see it now. Just a little bit more, desperately trying to avoid letting the pole touch anything through him-

He reels backwards, the force of the kick driving him backwards and forcing the pole beneath him to shift and change angle due to his weight on it. Steve’s head lolls back at the agony and sickness he feels from it. His eyes roll up into the back of his head and blood pools in the back of his throat.

“You cut off one head, two more grow back! Fortunately, I don’t another two heads to deal with you. _Hail HYDRA!”_ Handler snarls at him, picking up the knife Steve had been reaching for and looming over him, preparing to strike. There’s a madness in his eyes, a rough edge, and he looks feral.

The knife comes down, aiming for Steve’s heart, and he begins to shut his eyes, but then there is no knife. There is no Handler. Steve’s brow furrows as he tries to process this, but then they lurch into his field of vision, Handler and Bucky. The knife is nowhere in sight.

Bucky’s face is contorted in anger and grief, an expression Steve had hoped never to see on his face. He gets behind Handler, who attempts to dislodge him and reaches back. As quick as anything, Bucky lets go of Handler, and he begins to turn, but Bucky’s hands reappear at his head.

Bucky’s hands twist. Handler’s neck snaps. Bucky lets go with attitude, Handler’s corpse collapses. Steve’s eyelids droop, his skin seems like it’s going to fall off with the way he shakes, the way the pole shifts, the way his blood’s pounding through his veins.

“No-” Steve hears rather than sees Bucky skid beside him. Bucky’s arms wrap around his body from his side, carefully but with a strong grip. “Can you stand on your own?” His voice shakes, and Steve wants to comfort him, but can’t find it within him.

“Bu…” He tries to say, blinking slowly. He’s tired. He wants to sleep.

“I’ve got you. I’m with you, pal.” He sounds like the man from the 40s Steve let die. “I need you to try to stand up, otherwise I can’t,” His voice cracks, and Steve is crumbling at the emotion he can hear. “Otherwise I can’t help you.”

 _For him_ , Steve thinks. He makes his head nod, and Bucky slowly pulls him upwards. There’s a noise coming from outside the doors, but he ignores it, focusing on Bucky. Steve adjusts his leg, or he thinks he adjusts his leg, anyway, and he does the same with the other until they’re both beneath him. He nods again, ignoring the chains gnawing dangerously at his limbs.

Bucky lets go of him little by little, and he wants to say no, but he knows Bucky’s just trying to help him, so he won’t follow anything Steve tells him. He finds he can hold his own weight, and he tries to be surprised, but the only emotion he finds himself capable of feeling is wishing to make Bucky happy in this moment.

“Okay, that’s good. I need you to stay like that, completely still, can you do that for me, Stevie?”

 _No,_ he thinks. “Yes…” he says.

Bucky lets go of him completely, and Steve forces his eyes open. He seems to be hunched over, because he has to look up a little to look Bucky in the face. When he notices Steve’s eyes open, his look of horror turns to one of encouragement, but he doesn’t quite pull it off. _I must really look like shit._

He manages to stay upright, and Bucky grips the end of the pole. Steve gags when it wobbles, but he stays put. Bucky takes a rooted stance, holding the pole with both hands and looking Steve in the eyes. “This will hurt a little, but it’ll be over soon, and if you don’t struggle it won’t be so bad, yeah?”

Bucky begins to pull, and Steve’s eyes focus anywhere but down. He imagines this is what having a period feels like, and then is confused as to exactly why that is what he thinks of. He takes in Bucky’s attire: The Winter Soldier’s outfit. It looks good on him, especially when Bucky’s not trying to kill him with it on.

He’s not sure how Bucky doesn’t hear the noise, because Steve can definitely hear it, and it sounds like a quiet plane. His head turns towards the door, but whatever’s behind it isn’t visible through the hole. His vision blurs again, and the pole seems never-ending, scraping against his insides, and he feels like he could throw up.

He doesn’t. He stays still for Bucky. Then the pulling stops. Out of the corner of his eye, Steve makes out Bucky coming to the side of the pole, readjusting his grip and stance. In the middle of his view, he sees two figures burst through the broken doors.

Sam Wilson and Stark, suited up, take in the damage within a second, eyes locking onto Steve, then Bucky, and Bucky hasn’t moved yet. Through the haze, Steve sees what they see, and in the split few seconds it takes for Tony to aim and fire, Steve has twisted, lurched and knocked Bucky out of the way, taking his place.

His body is flung by electricity into the wall. The pole shifts, and Steve’s mind erupts in agony and blackness.

* * *

 

Bucky barely knows what’s happening; one minute he’s standing and removing the _pole from the_ _middle of Steve’s goddamn stomach,_ and the next he’s nearly tripping over the corpse of a HYDRA agent he’d killed just minutes ago. He steadies himself, about to ask Steve _what the hell he’s doing_ but when he looks up, Steve isn’t there anymore. With dawning horror, Bucky’s eyes swivel deliberately to the side, to the wall where he sees Steve lying motionless.

“Don’t move, soldier,” the Falcon orders from across the lab, already making his way over, but Bucky barely hears him as he throws himself to where Steve has crumpled against the ground, charred, broken and bleeding. _The Falcon appears to be confused_ , part of him notes. He doesn’t give a damn.

“He said _get back._ ” That’s Iron Man, the one whose father he assassinated. _This one’s shocked and a little scared._ Serves him right.

Bucky grabs the pole and pulls again, throwing caution to the wind, because the only way Steve can stay alive now is if his body can heal before he dies. Hands try to restrain him, but he’s too strong for them, and he removes the pole, throwing it haphazardly behind him.

“What are you trying to do here?! Is this not enough for you?” the Falcon yells at him, oblivious to Bucky’s desire to help Steve. At least he’s noticed that he can’t physically stop him- Iron Man is still having trouble grasping that, as becomes apparent when Bucky falls to his knees next to Steve.    

Bucky, panting heavily, grips Steve’s shoulder and pulls him upright into a sitting position. Iron Man’s fingers wrap around Bucky’s right arm and yank sharply backwards. He places himself between Steve and Bucky, and Bucky thought that they were smarter than this, but apparently not.

“He needs help,” Bucky bites out.

“And whose fault is that?” he retorts, voice underlined with apprehension and put-on cockiness. Bucky should know, he’d done it throughout his childhood.

“Theirs,” Bucky replies bitterly, gesturing to the dead men scattered across the room and dangling from sharp objects on the wall.

“Tony…” Falcon interrupts cautiously from the side. “Steve’s chained to the wall. I don’t think he was the one to kill these men.” Well, _someone_ gets it.

“I would rethink just how much you know about Steve if you think he’d be this bloody in his fights,” Bucky adds, rather sarcastically. “Tony, I’m sorry for killing your parents, and...Sam, I’m sorry for trying to kill you. Now, if you’ll excuse me…” Bucky pushes past them and returns to Steve’s side.

He shrugs off his jacket, ignoring the men coming up behind him and wraps it tightly around Steve’s middle in an attempt to stop the blood flow. Steve practically has a coat of crimson on him, and Bucky’s not entirely sure whether it’s from the hole or other injuries. He takes out a knife and brings it up to Steve’s face. He hears Falcon and Iron Man tense up behind him, and he resists the urge to roll his eyes.

He rests the not sharp side of the knife above Steve’s lip, and after a second the metal’s reflective surface begins to cloud. The knife is withdrawn, and Bucky sighs with relief, his head falling back and his shoulders slumping.

“If he doesn’t make it, neither do you two,” Bucky throws conversationally over his shoulder. He leans in to check for any other injuries that need to be immediately taken care of and hears Iron Man and Falcon attempting to discreetly discuss whether he’s being serious or not.

He realizes with a slight pang that neither of them responded to his apologies, but brushes it off- _people don’t tend to take apologies seriously when they’re said in an annoyed or humorous manner._

“Why didn’t they just take him the first time, instead of leaving him in that alleyway?” Iron Man voices a question that Bucky had been wondering for a time back at Steve’s apartment.

“They don’t look like they’re going to tell us any time soon,” Falcon points out drily.

“Maybe they weren’t ready. Maybe they liked seeing him in pain. Maybe they were cowards. Who cares? They’re all dead now.” Bucky speaks with a flat voice, hiding his revulsion. “No point looking for answers where there are none.”

“And again, whose fault is that?” Iron Man proves once again what a pretentious dick he is, sneering at him from behind.

Bucky blinks slowly, gritting his teeth. He flexes his fingers, and feels oddly satisfied by the nervous shifting he can hear behind him. “It’s their fault.”

“Oh yeah? How do you figure that?” _He can’t seem to leave it alone._

“They took him. They _hurt_ him.”

“Because you did so much better,” Tony remarks bitterly, ignoring Falcon’s attempts to shush him.

“I won’t make excuses for myself, but I _will_ say that I bet I’ve saved his life more times than you have. And I _will_ say that I regret what I did more than you could ever imagine.” Bucky stops himself before his anger takes control of him- he won’t break. Not here.   

Turning Steve over slightly, Bucky spots blood, but no injuries. They must have healed up already. His wrists and ankles are another story, however, the chains having made many small cuts into them. “Will one of you actually be useful and grab Steve’s shield from over by the door?” He’d dropped it while fighting the HYDRA scientists, preferring to kill rather than maim them.

“Why do you need it?” Falcon asks, curious, when he makes Stark fetch the shield. Bucky feels a hint of respect for him.

“These chains. If Steve couldn’t break them, they must have been strong.” It’s self-explanatory, really.

The shield falls next to him, and Bucky grabs it before it hits the ground. His arm makes a whirring noise that Bucky never really understood before he rams it into one of the chains, and it breaks easily. He repeats the action with the other chains until Steve’s practically free.

The chains are wrapped sloppily. _Effective for pain, but not much else._ They’re easy to undo once they’re cut, and there’s not much else Bucky can do to help Steve except wait.

Steve’s breathing becomes more noticeable and Bucky actually smiles. He unwraps his jacket from Steve’s middle to check what’s happening, and he’s almost certain that the hole’s a little smaller than it was. At any rate, judging by Steve’s breathing and the lack of blood loss, he’s stable enough to move.

“To a hospital,” Bucky announces, and reaches beneath Steve so he can lift him. A hand stops him, and he freezes, because it’s not Iron Man nor Falcon’s hand, it is Steve’s.

“First off,” his friend mumbles without opening his eyes. “First off I’m really tired of being knocked out. Second, can you tell Tony he’s an idiot for me?”

Bucky doesn’t move for a few seconds, but then he grins and turns his head to face the confused and worried expressions of Falcon and Iron Man. He points and Steve, then Iron Man, and tells him, “Apparently you’re an idiot. Given your actions since you got here, I’m not inclined to disagree.”

A chuckle from Steve turns into a wet cough, and that’s enough of that. He unfortunately misses the expression on Tony’s face but it must be good because it has Falcon laughing. “Shh, Stevie. You’re gonna be fine, but you’re not doing yourself any favors.”

“Don’t take me to a hospital, please, Buck.” Bucky’s about to ask why the hell not when Steve’s breathing changes again and he’s gone back to sleep. He closes his eyes with a smaller smile and touches his forehead to Steve’s. He knows he won’t do anything Steve doesn’t want him to unless it’s a life-or-death situation, and quite honestly, Bucky’s quite confident Steve can pull through this on his own.

Of course, it’d be _much easier_ if he goes to a hospital, but if Steve doesn’t want it, then Bucky won’t argue with him. That doesn’t mean he won’t take him home, though.

He meets no resistance when he reaches under Steve this time, and he picks him up gently across his arms, Steve’s head near Bucky’s human one. He uses his legs to lift, and quicker than he expected, he has Steve in his arms. “Pick up the shield, would you?” He says as he turns.

Tony raises his eyebrows at him, pointedly looking at Steve and then back at him. Bucky imitates him sarcastically as he walks past, and he hears Tony move to grab the shield. Falcon falls in step next to him as they walk out of the lab.

“So, where do we go?” he asks.

“Home.”

* * *

 

They’ve got a lot of explaining to do, but Bucky manages to convince Tony and Falcon to lay off for a while, until Steve has healed. Bucky fails to mention that it will only take about a day for that to happen. All Bucky told the two was that Steve went shopping and didn’t come home after.

Steve wakes up when they’re half way home. Tony starts talking but Bucky shushes him with a glare and lets Falcon fill him in on what happened. “Hey, Tony?” Steve says.

Tony responds with a non-committal noise.

“I only _mostly_ meant what I said about you being an idiot. The rest was just me.”

Steve’s unconscious again before Bucky can contradict him.

It takes them about an hour and a half, attracting quite a lot of attention walking back, and if what he knows of this generation is right, images and videos of them will be up on the internet soon. He doesn’t really care at the moment, though he thinks it would be interesting to look Steve up on the internet and see what comes up.

Bucky sits on Steve’s bed next to him. He’s drawn a sheet over him, not wanting to ruin Steve’s blanket. Bucky almost doesn’t want to know what they did to Steve, but he feels he needs to. They only had him for a few hours yet they managed to drench him and blood and impale him on a large metal pole, and that’s worrying.

A knock on the door diverts his attention from stroking Steve’s cheek and gazing at him absentmindedly. He shifts himself off of the bed and into the front room, cautiously approaching the front door. He opens it slightly, then wide open when he sees that it’s Falcon, dressed in his normal clothing now.

Falcon holds up a grocery bag to Bucky, and he takes it, giving Falcon a questioning look.

“I went back to their place and rooted around. Found that. I assume that’s what Steve was getting,” Falcon tells him with a nod and a smile. Bucky smiles back, understanding more and more of why Steve likes this guy (although not so much Tony).

“Look, I work down at the VA, and I was wondering…well, I help veterans with PTSD, and if you or Steve either want to come down, you’re welcome to.” Falcon claps him on the shoulder after a second of hesitation, and Bucky huffs out a laugh.

“I’ll speak to Steve about it,” Bucky replies.

Sam turns to go, and he makes a step before turning back around as an afterthought. “For the record, I’m sorry for trying to kill you, too.” Sam actually leaves this time, and Bucky watches him go for a few seconds before closing the door. He deposits the grocery bag in the kitchen (they’ll deal with it later) before returning to Steve’s bedroom.

Steve’s eyes are open, and he’s watching Bucky with a smile on his face. Bucky practically skips up next to him, draping himself across the bed next to Steve with a grin.

“They’re a few hours late, but we have the groceries,” Bucky tells him teasingly.

“That’s great, means we can have lunch. Oh, wait, maybe not.” Steve smirks at him.

“It means we can pig out and make up for lost food.”

Steve laughs, sitting up and pulling the sheet off of him. He lifts his bloodied shirt up to inspect the wound, but neither he nor Bucky can tell exactly what still needs to heal because of the dried blood. “You need a shower,” Bucky comments, and Steve looks back at him.

“You’re not exactly clean, either, Bucky,” Steve tells his with a pointed look at his clothing.

Bucky also looks down and notices blood on his clothes, and he smiles darkly. “None of it’s mine, don’t you worry, Stevie.”  

Bucky helps Steve stand, just in case, and he chooses this moment to remember the dishevel he left the apartment in. He turns and says sheepishly to Steve, “How about you strip here, and wait for me?”

Steve just grins knowingly, pulling off his shirt. It takes Bucky a few seconds to stop staring and leave the room.

Bucky runs into the living room, tidying up the file that he’d been reading earlier. There’s not much he can do for the table, chair and lamp, so he bins the lamp and chair, leaving the table where it is and rummaging around (carefully this time) for a piece of paper and a pen.

He leans against the not-so-broken part of the table and writes, _I O U 1 table, 1 lamp and 1 chair. Sorry._

He gently closes all of the cabinet doors he’d thrown open earlier that day, and surveys the apartment. It looks more or less normal, so Bucky returns to the bedroom and a naked but bloody Steve.

* * *

 

Hearing Bucky speeding around in the living room and kitchen, Steve laughs to himself, but it dies down as he pulls his blood-drenched clothes off of himself. It takes him longer than it should to remove the clothing, but every time his hands touch wet, he receives a jolting reminder of exactly what put it there. It doesn’t feel like it’s going to go away, but then, what does Steve know about this kind of pain?

Bucky would know. But he won’t tell him now, not yet. He doesn’t want to upset Bucky, and right now they’re treading on relatively thin ice. He knows it won’t stop them from…whatever it is they decide to do, but he’s sure it will make them more cautious.

Now that the danger of today is over, there’s no telling what could be next. The attack was, seemingly, random. An act of revenge, maybe more- they’d said something about making him into another Winter Soldier. _What if they’re not the only ones? What if? What if…_

He realizes he’s hyperventilating, and shakes his head. Not a matter for tonight. He peels his shirt of and it yields with a wet squish, making Steve shudder. He looks down, and most of his body is dyed dark red. He stares long enough that he can almost see _those hands,_ and he flinches back and waits. Steve’s mood increases greatly when the tell-tale footfalls get louder, nearer the door, and he relaxes when his friend enters the room. 

Steve smiles softly at Bucky, beckoning him closer and ridding him of his own clothes. They make their way over to the bathroom, Steve leaning on Bucky as to not exert himself until he knows what damage still needs healing.

When they climb in to the shower and turn it on, they both jump at how cold it is, and they break off in peals of laughter while the water changes temperature into something more doable. Bucky clutches at Steve and they hold each other, watching the crimson drain from their bodies until they’re just two wet men in a shower.

Bucky leans in under the spray, kissing Steve on the mouth gently and pulling back before he can respond, though he really wants to. Steve’s hands find themselves at Bucky’s shoulder and waist, mirroring Bucky’s on the other side, both all but oblivious to the shower raining gently on them.

Relief hits him as suddenly as the water; it finally dawns on him that there is no more danger, at least not for a while. They will have to answer to someone at some point, but for now it’s just them with nothing separating them. Steve knows he still has a long way to go, and they’re both far from perfect, but he has Bucky back now, and that’s more than good enough for him.

He watches Bucky through lidded eyes with a dimpled smile, his friend probably seeing every thought process run across his face. He always was able to read Steve like a book. Slowly, Bucky smiles back at him, pulling him for another, deeper kiss.

Steve cups Bucky’s face, the man he loved, loves and will love as long as he lives. He sees the sentiment reflected back in Bucky’s own face, sending a tingle down his spine.

“I love ya, Buck,” Steve tells him earnestly, resting his forehead against Bucky’s, looking him in the eyes.

“’Til the end of the line, pal,” Bucky whispers back.   

**Author's Note:**

> Tell me what you thought below, or message/follow me on [Tumblr](http://ravenroac.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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